


should my people fall (then surely i'll do the same)

by collegefangirl3791, skywalking-across-the-galaxy (BadWolfGirl01)



Series: lullabies [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Clone Wars, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Fluff, Force-sensitive Kix, Healing, Heavy Angst, Kissing, Krell's battalion is not a happy place to be, Lightsabers, Literal Sleeping Together, Mando'a, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: s04e07 Darkness on Umbara, Post-Episode: s04e10 Carnage of Krell, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Romantic Fluff, The Dark Side of the Force, The Force, The Force is So Done, Umbara is a Spooky Place, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, loth-cats are great buds, umbara aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-05 20:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 91,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collegefangirl3791/pseuds/collegefangirl3791, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadWolfGirl01/pseuds/skywalking-across-the-galaxy
Summary: Instead, she looks at Rex, who she thinks is just as unsure about all this as she is. “I don’t like this, Rex,” she says, uncertain. The Force is practically howling, has been ever since Master Krell will be the interim General, and this doesn’t make sense. “I don’t… I think you should be careful.”“I always am, ‘Soka,” Rex says, standing and offering her a hand up; she takes it, lets him pull her onto her feet.“I really mean it, Rex,” and she steps forward and curls her arms tight around him, tucks her face against his collarbone even though his armor is poky. “Don’t die.”[or: Umbara, briefly, and the aftermath.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so, Umbara revamped a bit, and the aftermath.
> 
> some important things: 
> 
> Krell is an absuer, emotionally and verbally, and on some occasions physically. he shows patterns of emotional abuse even in the first couple of episodes of the Umbara arc. this first chapter is going to be a few brief scenes from Umbara itself (since the rest of the arc is going to proceed pretty much according to canon), and will include our entirely-original clone battalion, the 607th, who have been Krell's troops since the beginning of the war. he's done some pretty not-great stuff to them, and they all are in not-so-good mental states. be _very_ careful when reading this entire fic if you have ever suffered emotional/verbal abuse of any kind, because this could be triggering or stressful to you. 
> 
> the trigger warnings on the tags are fairly general; we'll have more specific/detailed ones in the chapter notes as they apply.
> 
> the title for this fic comes from "I See Fire" by Ed Sheeran, which is an excellent song and has lots of clone vibes.

The light from the explosion sears Ahsoka’s face, burns her eyes (which have acclimatized decently well to the perpetual darkness, after some three or four hours on the move) and leaves a brilliantly blinding afterimage ghosting white across the backs of her eyelids when she blinks.

“It’s a good thing we got off that ridge,” Anakin says in a low murmur, and she hears Rex make a sound of agreement beside her.

Umbara, as it turns out, is like Felucia in many ways: dark and misty and covered with twisting, _bioluminescent_ plants and trees and animals (and a part of her wonders if the _people_ glow, too). It is unlike Felucia in the fact that _everything,_ every breath and every blink, feels saturated in _Darkness,_ like trying to breathe above the surface of Mon Cala’s oceans, the air heavy and filled with fog. She thinks maybe the men can not-quite feel it too, the way it weighs down on them, on their shoulders, because they--they’re not _slower,_ but morale is down. The Force is rife with worry and unease and nerves.

And it doesn’t help that the Force itself isn’t _happy,_ is churning in her gut like an anxiety spike, a constant hum of _something wrong, wrong, wrong,_ and she thinks Anakin feels it too, from the set to his shoulders and his jaw and the tense closeness of his thoughts. _Not-right._

“We should rest for a few minutes, Anakin,” she says quietly, scanning the landscape for any sign of hostiles--there’s none she can see, though that isn’t necessarily a _good thing,_ since the Umbarans are called _shadow people_ for a reason (like she’d heard Tup being gleefully informed earlier). They blend into the grey-black haze of the planet too well. She doesn’t _like it._

“I agree, Snips,” her Master says, lowering his macrobinoculars and sighing. “Go sit down, you guys, get the men down. Take a few. We don’t have long.”

Ahsoka nods, leads Rex away--they pass the word on to Fives and Echo, Jesse and Kix, and slowly the men settle in, pulling off helmets and leaning against the weird glowing plants or against dirt ridges or even rocks. She and Rex finally settle down not too far away, where they can keep an eye out for hostiles in a different direction from where Anakin is looking--really, she should be on the opposite side of their camp, but she’s not letting Rex wander around out here with no one on his six. Not when the Umbarans have already proven they can outflank even a Jedi.

She tilts her head into his shoulder a bit, says softly, “I don’t like this whole planet, Rex.”

“Neither do I,” he admits, eyes still scanning the landscape even as he slips an arm around her and tugs her into his side, just a little. Not so close that they can’t spring apart and up to fight, but _here,_ present, reassuring. “It feels… off.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka agrees, closing her eyes and reaching out into the Force--and still, even with asking politely, getting back nothing but vague whispers of _warning_ and the ever-present _wrong, wrong, wrong._ “The Force is… something’s wrong,” and she shrugs.

The weight of the new armor piece is actually comforting around her shoulders and collarbone and chest, and the gloves Cody’d given her are soft and soothing over the backs of her hands, but there’s an itch in her spine and something shivering on the back of her neck and she doesn’t _like this._

There’s a sense of _something’s coming,_ and then a transport flies low overhead, drops down over by where they’d left Anakin and Fives and Echo. There’s a pause (she can’t see what’s going on because of the tree-things in the way), and then her wristcomm crackles, says, _“Snips, I need you and Rex over here when you finish your patrol.”_

Patrol? Right, whatever, go with it. That’s basically code for _take your time, it’s okay._ “Copy that, Master,” she responds, flicks the commlink off.

He’s not done, though. _“We’ll be returning to Coruscant on the Chancellor’s behest, so if you’ve got anything the troops need to have, make sure it stays.”_

What? “Returning to Coruscant?” she repeats, dumbly, staring at Rex. “But--”

 _“Master Krell will be the interim General,”_ Anakin says. _“I’ll explain once we’re en route, just finish up your patrol and get over here.”_

“But, _Master,”_ she says, and then closes her mouth. She’ll fight him once they get _over there._

Instead, she looks at Rex, who she thinks is just as unsure about all this as she is. “I don’t _like_ this, Rex,” she says, uncertain. The Force is practically _howling,_ has been ever since _Master Krell will be the interim General,_ and this doesn’t _make sense._ “I don’t… I think you should be careful.”

“I always am, ‘Soka,” Rex says, standing and offering her a hand up; she takes it, lets him pull her onto her feet.

“I really mean it, Rex,” and she steps forward and curls her arms tight around him, tucks her face against his collarbone even though his armor is poky. “Don’t die.”

“I won’t,” he says, trails a hand down her back headtail. “Come on, we better finish our _patrol.”_

And there’s dry sarcasm in the words, enough to normally make her smile, but she just pulls back a little bit and shakes her head, swallows and then surges up to kiss him hard, fierce, threading her fingers through his hair (which he’s let grow out just a little bit, she’s been pleased about that) and tugging him down towards her so she doesn’t have to strain so much. He hums into the kiss, then pulls back, touches his forehead to hers, briefly.

“I promise, _ner’jetii,”_ he says lightly, brings his hand up to swirl over her montrals, across the white markings on her face, and then dropping it to his side. “Now let’s go.”

She frowns but nods, swallowing hard. She trusts him, of course she trusts him. It’s just--

_Wrong, wrong, wrong._

~~~

As they walk back towards General Skywalker’s position, the air is still shrieking with enough blaster bolts and energy blasts that Rex barely notes the transports swooping low and setting down close to where his platoons are stationed. He thinks that between the perpetual darkness, the advanced technology of their enemy, and General Skywalker being gone, this campaign will be _difficult._

He hopes it will at least be quick.

General Skywalker is standing with a massive, sour-looking Besalisk, who has all four arms crossed over his chest. This is probably General Krell - Rex has heard that General Pong Krell has high rates of victories versus losses, and he looks Krell over, decides he is probably the older, more orthodox military sort. That will make the battalion grumble, but a little extra discipline won't hurt.

Well, Commander Lareen’s stint hadn't exactly been easy on his men, but no harm done, in the end.

Rex tucks his helmet under his arm as he comes up to General Skywalker, moves to stand at his shoulder and nods to him. There are troopers getting off the transports, most of them in unpainted armor - does Krell just have an entire battalion of shinies? Rex doesn’t think they move like shinies, though, there’s too much familiarity with their weapons, not enough fear of the new terrain.

One of the soldiers that does have paint on his armor is making his way over to them, but Rex refocuses on Ahsoka, who’s got hands on her hips, glaring at General Skywalker and General Krell by turns. “Master, why are we being called back to Coruscant? We can’t just leave the men in the middle of a battle!”

Skywalker holds up a hand. “I know. But the Chancellor specifically asked for me, and Master Krell will have things well in hand.”

General Krell nods, a little. The trooper, with red paint on his armor, has come up to them and snapped to attention just behind General Krell - Rex would _almost_ be amused, because waiting at attention gets ridiculous after a while, but… This trooper’s armor is painted and scarred and definitely _not_ shiny, he should know he can at _least_ stand at parade rest. Rex frowns a little.

Ahsoka, true to form, is not ready to just accept General Skywalker’s answer; she shifts her weight on her foot and gestures dismissively with one hand. “Then let me stay behind with the battalion, and _you_ can go help the Chancellor. He didn’t ask for _me.”_

Rex hides a smile as Skywalker shakes his head. “It’ll be a good learning experience, Snips.”

General Krell interjects too, in a voice that sounds like craters in an asteroid, deep and stony. “Don’t worry, General Skywalker - we’ll have the capital secured by the time you get back.”

“I’m counting on it,” Skywalker says, and Ahsoka turns and catches Rex’s eyes. She looks anxious, and she nods at him a tiny bit, like _remember._

He nods back. He wasn’t entirely kidding when he told her he was always careful. He is. And this whole campaign’s got him on edge.

General Skywalker puts a hand on Rex’s shoulder and says, “This is Captain Rex of the 501st. He’s my first in command. You won’t find a finer or more loyal trooper anywhere.”

Rex smiles a little, inclines his head.

General Krell nods a little in return, then gestures towards the transport. “Good luck, General Skywalker, Padawan Tano.”

Rex’s General straightens, gives Ahsoka a _look,_ and starts for the transport - Ahsoka glances at Rex one more time and he smiles a little, reassuring. He promised he’d be careful, and he will. He turns back toward Krell as they get onto the transport, says, “General Krell, your reputation precedes you - it’s an honor to be serving you, sir.”

The General gives him a once-over, yellow eyes contemplative, then leans back a little and settles his four arms behind his back. “I find it very interesting that you’re able to recognize the value of honor,” his voice light and careless, “for a clone.”

Rex makes himself _stone,_ fast, although he can’t help but draw back a little. He’s not sure he _understood_ that correctly, hopes he somehow heard wrong - but he knows he didn’t.

“You will stand at attention when I address you,” Krell says, beginning to pace, and Rex stands to attention naturally, easily, sees the members of Torrent Company who are within earshot doing the same thing. He glances at Krell’s trooper, decides his waiting at attention makes much more sense now.

So it’s going to be like this. He sighs a little, to himself.

“Your flattery is duly noted, but it will not be rewarded,” Krell says, dismissive. Rex keeps his expression neutral, although _what the actual kriff?_ “There’s a reason my command is so effective, and it’s because I do things by the book.” Krell marches over to Torrent Company, among his men, leans into Fives’ space (Fives looks like he’s just stepped in a pile of bantha shit), eyes Brii’s red-tipped hair and riotous armor with a curled lip. “And that _includes_ protocol.” Brii swallows, wide-eyed, and Rex frowns.

Then Krell comes back to Rex and the trooper from his own battalion, who is still at perfect attention (if it weren’t so _kriffing stupid_ it would be impressive), and gestures at him with two hands. “This is my captain, CT-3181. I expect your battalion will do its best to work with mine, or you jeopardize the entire mission.”

Rex grits his teeth, glances at the Captain, ‘81 (hopes he doesn’t have a name, somehow, or that there’s _some_ reasonable explanation for Krell introducing a trooper by _number)_ , nods at him. “My men will not be a problem, sir,” he says, tightly. They are all soldiers, they know better than to risk a campaign over petty squabbles with another battalion.

The general hums a little, doesn’t sound impressed. “Have all platoons ready to move out, immediately,” he says, turns and walks away. “That is all.”

Rex catches Fives’ eye, and Fives shakes his head a little, still looks like he’s smelling something offensive. Rex sighs and half-shrugs, then turns to the Captain of the other battalion again. “What’s your name, Captain?”

The trooper eases out of attention, reaches up and tugs off his helmet; he’s got close-cropped hair and a tattoo around his right eye like a firework and a straight, long scar (from a burn, Rex thinks) on his left cheek. Rex doesn’t particularly like the look in this _vod’s_ eyes, the fact that he isn’t quite meeting Rex’s gaze, and he glances around at the troopers from Krell’s battalion again, measures them against his own. “I go by Je’kai,” Rex raises an eyebrow because _bait_ is an interesting choice of names, he’s curious as to _why,_ “but only around _vode._ We best get moving before the general returns.” Rex smiles a little, nods and gives a hand signal to Echo for _move out._ As they start marching, Je’kai glances at him and adds, “It will be easier for both our battalions if you use numbers around the general, Captain.”

Rex snorts bitterly, tugs his helmet on. “Not _kriffing_ likely.” If Krell or Je’kai or _anyone_ thinks he’s taking his brothers’ names away so their temporary general feels better, they have another think coming. Still, Je’kai’s assertion, his eyes, the numbers… it all tells him the same thing Ahsoka did, loud and clear.

_Be careful._

* * *

 

Kix paces.

Up, down, left, right, around the bunks in the floor of the tower he’s taken for his medbay, over and over and over again. _You don’t have a choice. That’s an order._

No. He’s _not_ thinking about that.

He paces because he doesn’t _want_ to remember, to hear Krell’s words coming from Rex’s mouth, telling him to leave the wounded behind. Not telling, _ordering._ Saying that it’s more important to _save yourself._ Like _hells_ it is!

_(None of this is right, little one, you know this.)_

The men he’d been able to save, the ones that could walk, with stims and painkillers, lay on bunks all around him; most of them are 501st, but there are a few of Krell’s 607th battalion in their dirty white (mostly, though a few of them have splashes of dark red paint) armor. Kix has done what he can, with his limited resources--and he’s already running dangerously low on stims, since Krell had forced them to march at speed for _over twelve hours,_ and _then_ attack two heavily-fortified paths, nearly getting them all _killed._ The kriff is _wrong_ with the general? If they’d just followed Skywalker’s strategy, they’d _have_ the capital by now.

Little _gods,_ Kix is exhausted.

He needs to sleep--they’re supposed to march on the capital again in twelve hours (which is _barely_ enough time to let the men have a few hours of rest), and he’ll need to be rested, if he’s going to be able to get the _insane_ amount of wounded they’ll be sure to have to safety, but… gods. Rex’s words won’t stop circling in his head. _Forget it! We have to leave them._

Hells.

Maybe the 607th’s medic has more stims--if they even _have_ a karking medic, which from what Kix has seen isn’t exactly a guarantee. Still.

“Tuck,” Kix calls, and the junior medic looks up from where he’s slumped in a chair, head in his hands. They’re all dead on their feet, really--he wishes he could let them sleep. But _someone_ has to watch the wounded. “I’m gonna go see if I can find their senior medic, get more supplies. Keep an eye on them.”

“Will do,” Tuck says tiredly, and Kix nods his thanks, turns to go.

There’s a turbolift in the center of the tower, leading up to the command center, where Krell’s apparently set up shop, and also down to the brig and the main entrance; Kix takes it now, crosses the wide space of the airbase to the barracks. The 501st and 607th are all jumbled together here, squads in clusters around bunks--Kix looks around for a minute, trying to find a distinctive medic’s insignia on _someone’s_ armor, but seeing nothing, at least not at first glance.

What he _does_ see, though, is his Captain _standing up_ in a corner with Fives, Echo, and Jesse, having a low, heated debate. The _kriff_ are they doing? “Captain,” Kix snaps, striding over, “sit _down._ All of you should be karking _asleep,_ little gods.”

“The _general,”_ Fives spits, “wants us to march to the capital. Without asking General Kenobi. And those missiles--they’ll kill us _all,_ it’s another suicide mission!”

“And we won’t come out of this one,” Jesse adds, shakes his head. “We can’t just _sleep, ori’vod.”_

Kix sighs, drags a hand down his face. _(Dark, cold, ice, pain and screaming and horror and sick--wrong, wrong, wrong.)_ “You can’t do anything about it if you don’t rest,” he says finally, shaking his head. “I can’t spare stims for you guys, I’m almost out already, and my medics need them--” and he cuts himself off, sighs and leans against the wall. “Do any of you know if they’ve got a senior medic?”

Maybe he said all that a little louder than he should, because half the barracks is looking over at their corner now, including the 607th’s Captain--who has a burn scar down his face that looks _suspiciously_ like a lightsaber burn (and _that_ makes Kix sick, makes him think _wrong, wrong, wrong_ again)--but Kix almost finds he doesn’t _care._ Okay, so in twelve hours they’re all going to die (and the--something _shrieks),_ whatever, he has _wounded_ to take care of. Some of them _seriously injured._

_If we survive, you can patch up the wounded later._

Rex won’t look at him, just says, “Do what you can for them and get some rest.”

That’s not _good enough._ Kix shakes his head, pushes off the wall, snaps, “If General Skywalker was here--”

“If _our General_ was here we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Echo says, “but he’s _not,_ so we gotta--figure it out ourselves.”

There’s silence, and then a 607th trooper, hair just a shade longer than regulation (just enough that it falls over his forehead a little) and a single circle of dark red on his cuirass, pushes himself to his feet and comes over. “I’m--Beten,” he says quietly, “the medic. I’ve got a few things you can use.”

 _You._ Not _we._ “I could use your help, _vod.”_

Beten shrugs. “They need me here more,” he says, simply. “I’m almost out of painkillers, but I have stims and some bacta patches at my bunk.”

How could he be out of painkillers when he hasn’t--and Kix cuts that train of thought off fast, because it doesn’t _matter._ _(Listen, little one, you can feel it, you know how.)_ “I’d appreciate it, _vor’e,”_ he says dryly, follows the other medic back to a bunk.

But _gods._ Gods, gods, gods.

~~~

He curls up on a bunk in the corner with his arms around his middle and does not look at the _vode_ talking in the other corner of the room. Looking makes it feel worse. Nothing makes it feel _better,_ but at least if he is just quiet and counts the lines on the palms of his hands, it’s just him, by himself, on his bunk, and there’s nobody else here, and he is a little safer.

Nobody bothers him, so he’s _not here._ It’s better if he’s just _not here._

The other battalion makes it hard. The 501st. He’s heard of them, he did when he was new. They’re supposed to be a good battalion. He thinks they’re just too _loud,_ they’re talking too much about- about _him._ They’re all going to get hurt and then it will be _worse, worse,_ and he won’t be by himself anymore. If they were so _good,_ they’d just _be quiet_ and _go away._

He wants to tell Beten that it hurts, but the painkillers never fix anything, and Beten is trying to help ‘34, so he curls his arms over his head and is very quiet.

“Naas,” someone says, very softly, and he wants them to _go away,_ if they go away he doesn’t have to think about it. “Naas, are you injured?”

He thinks it’s Cager talking to him, so he pulls his hands away from his head and sits up straighter (and looks at the 501st’s Captain and _worse)_ . _“Nayc,”_ he says tiredly.

Cager sits down (not on his bunk, next to it) and glances back at him, then over at the little knot of _angry, hurting, scared_ 501st troopers. “They won’t listen,” Cager says, heavy. “To the general, or the Captain.”

 _“Tion’jor?”_ he asks, barely a whisper. It’s so _not-right,_ they should listen, if they don’t- He stays sitting up straight but he wants to hunch over his knees. But his _vode_ tell him he has to not be so _laandur,_ if he doesn’t want to be _left._

“I don’t know. Different… different general, I guess.” Cager shrugs. “Or they’re all idiots,” he adds, with an almost-laugh.

Naas smiles a little. Although it’s not funny, it’s _wrong._

 _“Di’kute,”_ he agrees.

Cager twists around, pats his leg, and pushes himself upright again. He’s a little unsteady; Naas thinks he must have twisted something. He wishes he could fix it.

But he can’t, ever, because Beten doesn’t have time to train a junior medic and _he_ would leave Naas behind, so. No fixing things.

He curls back up on his bunk, but before he can put his face safely back behind his arms, his eye catches on all the _colors_ that is one of the 501st troopers. The one the General is going to _break,_ Naas thinks, if they are not careful. (They have not been careful, all of them are going to snap, because they _don’t understand.)_

He likes the colors.

The trooper is bent over a little _book,_ with a _pencil,_ and Naas thinks… thinks he is… is _drawing?_ But _why?_ And he should _not._ But Naas wants to see, especially because the trooper looks intent, angry, and he wants to know _why drawing._

Is it allowed?

He doesn’t think so. And he looks at the trooper too long, and then it’s _worse_ but also- He is not sure. So he slides off his bunk, tries to walk like a good soldier, like he is not-

He is _not._

The trooper looks up when he gets close, tugs the book close to him protectively, and oh, he doesn’t want to be _looked at._ He should have stayed on his bunk.

“Hi,” says the trooper, _is too loud,_ but…

Naas shrugs a shoulder. _“Tion’meg?”_ he says, pointing at the book.

The trooper frowns, holds it up. “My sketchbook,” he says, opening it again and going back to his drawing. He has an arm curled around it, which means Naas shouldn’t look at it, so he leans back.

He wants to ask _are you allowed, what if they see._ But he doesn’t. Questions. Not good, questions. So he stands and watches the trooper’s hand move, thinks it looks nice. To try.

“Do you wanna see?” the trooper says, after a minute, and Naas thinks he should have gone back to his bunk by now.

But he shrugs, says, _“‘lek,”_ and edges a little closer.

He thinks Je’kai is watching him. Je’kai scolds, when he is not careful.

The trooper turns the page of his sketchbook _(his_ book, for _drawing),_ and holds it out with a really big smile.

It is a picture, which Naas guesses this trooper drew, of a person, looking annoyed (it is the _Jedi,_ the one who left, who owns the 501st), with a _koala bear_ (Naas learned about them before he was assigned, but he has never _seen one)_ on his head. He doesn’t _understand_ but it is- is a nice picture. It is of their General. Why would-

He folds his arms around his stomach, and the trooper takes the book back, goes back to his drawing, says off-handedly, “I’m Brii. What’s your name?”

He should not. This is not his _vod,_ he should go be by himself, Je’kai would want him to be _quiet._ But the trooper- But Brii seems nice. Happy. _(Not worse, not so much a mess of_ **_everything_ ** _as everyone else.)_ “Naas,” he says, raspy.

Looks up, and _worse, worse, worse, bad,_ scrambles away from the trooper fast, finds Je’kai’s bunk because Je’kai is better, safer. Because _he’s_ here and he shouldn’t have been talking to the trooper and the trooper needs to stop drawing and he should have stayed _by himself_ where he is _naas,_ nothing, _not here, not here, not here._

They don’t listen, they’re stupid, and it is _worse,_ he should have known it would be _worse._

He drags himself to attention by Je’kai and tries so very hard not to shake.

~~~

Brii _likes_ Naas, he decides, sketches another rough line with his charcoal pencil. He can’t bring any of his fancier ones along on missions--they stay on the _Resolute,_ because it’s safer there, they won’t get broken or lost--so he just has his sketchbook and his pencil, but that’s fine. That’s plenty to draw with, the happy things, or the--

Or the bad ones. The nightmares.

 _Vode_ dying under the massive Umbaran tanks, crushed, the Captain so small with his jaig eyes and his _kama_ still standing proud and firing. It is a good drawing, Brii decides--or, well, it _will_ be, once he’s all done with it. All the nightmare drawings are, because of how clear the images are, how sharp and hurting. Maybe he’ll color this one, Tup always says he should color more of them.

Naas scrambles away like a spooked animal, and Brii frowns a bit but stays focused on his sketching--he thinks his new friend, his _vod,_ will be back. Naas had _liked_ the drawing of General Skywalker and Commander Tano and Captain Rex and Fives and the _bear_ (Fives had wanted to keep the bear, because of how much it annoyed the General to have a bear on his head). So he’s not so worried, hums to himself and draws another line, shades in a shadow. This is _good,_ it looks good so far--maybe he’ll keep it rough, actually. It looks better this way--

Somebody clears their throat from up above his head.

Brii _jumps,_ scoops his sketchbook close to his chest and sits up quickly, looks up--and up--to see--

Oh, _no._

It’s _General Krell,_ two arms behind his back and the other two crossed over his chest, and Brii flushes hot and red all down his neck (and it’s so _embarrassing_ that he does that) and swallows hard.

General Krell just waits.

Brii doesn’t know what he _wants._ “Yes, General?” he hazards, finally, nerves making his voice go higher, and he tightens his arms around his sketchbook, protectively.

General Krell extends one of the arms behind his back, palm open, and the sketchbook _pulls from Brii’s arms_ and settles in the general’s hand. “Interesting,” the Jedi says, deep, musing, and Brii swallows and hunches small.

Says, “Please don’t, sir.”

And General Krell goes _still._ “What did you say, clone?” he asks, soft and dangerous, and _oh no._

No, no, no. “I--can I have my sketchbook back, please, sir?” Please, please, please, it’s _his._ It doesn’t _belong_ to General Krell, he can’t _have it._

 _“Your_ sketchbook?”

Oh no. Brii nods, focuses his eyes on the book, so close, he could just--reach out and touch it, please give it back. (He remembers the longnecks finding his first drawings, scraps of paper he left behind in the observation deck, throwing them away. His _vode_ who didn’t understand laughing at the flowers and animals and tattoo ideas and armor designs. He wants it _back.)_ “Y-yes, sir, it’s--mine.”

Somebody moves, just a tiny bit, but Brii doesn’t _dare_ look at them, doesn’t dare look away from his book, his drawings, the one of General Skywalker with the koala that he wants to give the General (because Commander Tano always says General Skywalker would like his drawings, would love one to hang up in his room). He needs it back, now, please. Please.

“Interesting,” the Besalisk Jedi muses again, and then suddenly there’s _movement,_ the other arm coming from behind his back and--no, no, he grabs his saber and Brii reaches out on instinct because _please,_ that’s _his,_ no no no--

And then there’s a horrible humming and green _stabs_ through the center of his book, rips out to one side (the binding, no no no), and then the saber is back on his belt and the book is on the floor and General Krell just says, “That will be all,” and strides away with all four arms behind his back and no, no, _no!_

Brii lets out a strangled yelp and _flings_ himself off the bunk, scrabbles at the pieces of his sketchbook, fumbling for the _pictures,_ all of them, and they’re all just black, lines of scorched paper and smudged pencil and cracking paint and _no no no_ that’s not _possible,_ he can’t _do that,_ no, no, not _his book,_ it’s _his,_ please, and then someone’s dropping down by him--it’s Tup, it’s his _ori’vod,_ saying, “Hey, easy Brii,” and there’s someone else (Rex, his Captain, wrapping his arms tight around his shoulders) but Brii can’t look away from the scrap of paper clenched tight in his fist.

Because it’s the General’s _face,_ annoyed and grumpy and glaring up at the _bear,_ and he--he _can’t,_ please no, and Brii curls forward over the scraps of his book and shakes his head and _cries_ because no, no, no.

“I’m sorry, _vod’ika,”_ Captain Rex says, “it’s okay, I’ll get you another one,” but that doesn’t bring back the _pictures,_ all of them, his _vode_ and animals and flowers and his Commander and his _General_ and--and everybody, no, no, he can’t, please. “I’m _sorry._ You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

“He _can’t,”_ Brii says, shakes his head hard, can’t breathe. “It’s--that was for _General Skywalker,_ he can’t _ruin it,”_ and he can’t, he can’t do this, no. No, it’s all _wrong,_ the Jedi aren’t supposed to-- _do this,_ they--no. “I want the _real General_ back.”

“I know,” says Fives, crouching down too, and he reaches out and grabs Brii’s fist, says, “Can I take that from you, _vod’ika?_ It’ll be too crumpled to show the General otherwise.”

Brii sniffs and nods, lets Fives uncurl his fingers and remove the little scrap of paper (too little, no), and then Captain Rex is talking again. “I won’t let him do anything like that again,” his Captain promises, “not if I can help it.”

Which is good, but-- “My _pictures,”_ he says, raw, finds the biggest chunk of the leather-bound book and holds it to his chest again. _No,_ please, he _needs them,_ he needs--he can’t just--take them away, they aren’t _his_ to take! “They’re _mine.”_

And he still can’t _breathe._

“Brii,” says Tup, low, “you gotta breathe, _vod’ika.”_

And Brii _knows,_ but he can’t do it. Because his _pictures_ are gone, all of them, happy and sad and the one for the General and--no, no, no, no, _no._

~~~

Maybe if Rex just holds on tight enough to Brii, collects enough of the burnt remains of the sketchbook and all the careful, lovingly-rendered drawings, then he can make up for the fact that this happened in the first place, for everything that Krell has done since he took over command. (For what _he’s_ had to do.)

He doesn’t want to let go, but Tup and Kix and Fives and Echo and Alpha and some other of his men are all clustered around, trying to help or just standing, and Rex has had half an ear out for the rest of the _vode,_ and somebody’s been crying almost as much as Brii, but softer. Rex can’t just leave that, not without at least understanding, so he pulls back a little, presses his forehead to Brii’s. “You’re okay, _vod’ika,”_ he says gently, and Brii shakes his head once, mutely.

Brii spent _hours_ and hours on those pictures. And they’re all _gone,_ for no reason.

Rex has seen almost all the pictures Brii has done for his _vode,_ including the one he gave to Cody that’s of Rex himself.

They were _important._

He hangs onto Brii for a second longer, then stands, pushes through his _vode_ towards the sound of crying and whispered Mando’a. Fives comes after him, at his shoulder, and Rex doesn’t have to look at him to know how _angry_ he is.

Rex understands.

There’s a _vod_ on one of the bunks, curled up in a ball, shivering so hard Rex can see it through his armor (because none of them, not even the most relaxed of the 501st, have been stupid enough to think that they can do without armor under _this_ general), and Je’kai is sitting on the edge of the bunk, talking softly but not touching, and Rex is reminded of Ahsoka in the Trandoshans’ ship when she found she was in a _cage._

“What’s wrong?” he says, very quietly, aiming the question at Je’kai; the Captain twists to look at him and then stands, gingerly, visibly gritting his teeth.

Rex thinks Je’kai should be in the medbay.

“We’re fine,” the Captain says, defensively, and that is _banthashit_ but then so is everything, right now.

“Je’kai,” Rex says, as calm as he can be, pushing the anger down to a small, sharp point where it won’t cut anyone but himself. “I just want to help. Is he okay?” He glances over at the _vod’ika,_ knows the answer, that he is _not okay_ anymore than Je’kai is or Brii is or Kix or Fives or Rex himself.

Je’kai steps a little sideways, so he’s between Rex and their other _vod,_ scowling. “You worry about your own men,” he growls, “and I’ll worry about mine.”

“Is that your philosophy?”

Rex reaches for Fives’ shoulder, because he’s watching Je’kai’s expression and he wants to shut Fives up, but Fives _never listens to him,_ so Fives pushes his hand away and keeps talking.

“I saw you get up, you knew he was gonna do that. Is that why you didn’t help, ‘cause he’s not one of your men?” Fives’ tone is biting, harsh, and Rex reaches for his shoulder again, turns and pushes him a step back. That only works, he thinks, because Fives lets him.

 _“Udesii,_ Fives,” he says, low and sharp.

Fives meets his eyes and Rex understands, because his _vod_ just looks angry, but underneath that is _horror._

Because Krell has destroyed their _vod’ika’s_ most precious thing, only because Brii had claimed it as _his,_ and earlier- earlier Krell called Fives by his number, turned a saber on him to save his pride, and it is _not right._

Je’kai just shakes his head at Fives, and Rex tries to puzzle out the look in his eyes, because if he can figure this _vod_ out then maybe he can _help._ “My own _vode_ need me - I cannot afford to get hurt protecting _yours_ too. _You’re_ their Captain, you should have _realized.”_ Rex grits his teeth, holds Je’kai’s gaze, because he _knows._ Gods, he knows it, and he’s _trying,_ but nothing makes sense, not like it should. “I tried to tell you,” Je’kai says, sharper. “You can’t be people around him.”

Rex will not give up what he _is_ for Krell, will not let his _vode_ do it either. Not if it means _this,_ pain and inaction and _nothing_ but that.

Fives swears, explosive, and Rex rounds on him again. _“Ne’johaa,_ Fives. Take a walk.”

His _vod_ shakes his head, but turns on his heel and strides back over to Echo, who’s got an arm around Brii and is talking very quietly.

Rex focuses on Je’kai again, and the crying _vod_ still shaking on the bunk. “You’re all my _vode,”_ he says, no-nonsense. “And I want to help your friend. I have- I know how to help, when they get like that.” He reaches out, sets a grounding hand on Je’kai’s shoulder - or at least, he _means_ it to help. In actuality, Je’kai jolts _hard_ away from his hand, shuddering, and Rex pulls back, swallowing.

_Gods take it._

He debates, for a second, whether to pause and ask, and help, but he is more concerned about their _vod_ who’s crying, so he eases past Je’kai to sit down, tug off his gloves and gauntlets with a sigh.

“Hey, _vod’ika,”_ he says, very softly. “Are you okay?”

There’s no response at all, save maybe more violent shivering, and that doesn’t really surprise Rex, so slowly, slowly, ever-so-careful, he sets his hand on his _vod’s_ back and, when that doesn’t get a negative reaction, starts soothing his palm steady up and down his spine.

He thinks it helps; his _vod’ika_ stops trembling so much, curls a little tighter, and that _seems_ better, anyway.

He waits a moment before deciding this isn’t enough, with how _tight_ the trooper is curled up, and he (still so careful), fits his arms around his _vod’s_ shoulders and tugs him bodily again his chest.

Thank the little gods, that was the right choice; the poor trooper (who feels almost skinny, for a clone anyway) grabs onto him and sags against his arm, shakes less. _“Ni jate, vod’ika,”_ Rex says, glances over at Brii, who’s at least on his feet now, although he’s clinging to Tup and still sniffling, eyes red.

_Not kriffing right._

Eventually, the _vod_ calms enough that he pushes at Rex’s shoulder, shaking his head, and Rex lets go of him and moves back on the bunk, to the edge of it. “You okay now, _vod?”_

He shrugs, half a shoulder, slowly sits up very straight and looks up, stares at Rex’s chest instead of his face. Better. Still not good. “Sorry, sir,” he rasps, and Rex sighs, shakes his head.

“You’re fine. You gotta name?”

The trooper shrinks, shoulders curling _in,_ and Rex sees Je’kai make a short, truncated movement in the corner of his eye. But then the _vod’ika_ shrugs again, eyes flicking up for just a second, and says, “Naas.”

It takes Rex a moment to understand that _that_ is his _name._ “Okay,” Rex says, pats his shoulder and stands up. “Well, I’m Rex. You gonna be alright here, Naas?”

Naas shrugs for the third time. _“Elek,_ sir.”

Okay. Still not good.

Everything is _kriffing shit._

Rex nods to Je’kai, gestures for him to take a few steps away from the bunk with him, then settles into a wide stance and crosses his arms, sighing. “I need to understand,” he says, tightly. “Your name is _bait, vod._ Why?”

He has his own ideas, but he wants Je’kai’s answer. From what he has seen of this battalion since it arrived, from what he has seen of Krell, he thinks he may regret asking, but these men are _his vode_ and he needs to understand what’s going on, why they’re all so… so _wrong,_ almost, so not like any of his other brothers. Why they’re all silent and afraid.

“I can take it. They can’t,” he says, very simply, with an edge to his voice. “Someone has to be the one to get hurt. And that’s me.” He crosses his arms, and Rex suddenly finds it hard to face him.

He has thought that, sometimes, himself. But it’s different, putting himself between Seppies and his men - that is being a Captain, that’s war, that’s _how things are._ Supposed to be that way, almost. He knows Cody’s the same. But Je’kai puts himself between _his General_ and his men, and that is _not_ how it’s supposed to be, is not right - Generals should not be drawing sabers on the troopers under their command, and- and- Rex’s eyes find Je’kai’s scar again, the one he thought was from a burn, _unnaturally_ straight and even, that scar. From a _saber?_

So then it’s no wonder that Je’kai did not help Brii.

Rex _burns,_ and it’s so much harder to control the anger, to keep it _down_ where it can’t make him do what he wants to. Can’t make him march out of the barracks, after Krell, can’t make him tell Krell if he hurts another one of his _vode_ like this Rex will- will-

“That scar is his fault, then,” Rex growls, steady but harsh. “Krell’s.”

~~~

Je’kai thinks that, in another world, he would like this trooper, this Captain, much more.

There is an _intensity_ about Rex of the 501st that Je’kai’s never seen before, not in his _vode,_ not in himself (even when he was shiny and new and young), a--protectiveness, almost, but one that _burns._

Je’kai has never burned, except for when his general’s saber got too close. And except for _that day,_ the one he--cannot bear to remember, must not ever forget. He _cannot_ burn, because _fire_ is too much, is too--the general knows. And _anger_ from a _clone_ is not something the general allows. It makes them too--human, too--

No.

That is not something Je’kai can let himself think about, right now. Right now it’s a campaign, it’s a fight, a mission, and they have to finish it. Then, after, after he can leave this battalion (too bright, too loud and eager and _happy,_ too much) behind and he can find his balance and he can _survive._

“Yes,” Je’kai says, even, breathes in (and that _aches,_ his ribs are not good, _gods),_ forces himself not to flinch. “His saber.” But he, Je’kai, was the one who pushed himself _close,_ who shoved Naas out of the way, silently _pleading_ with his _vod’ika_ to just be _silent,_ please--and no, no, that is not the memory he wants to see right now.

His fault. All of this, sometimes, feels like his fault. (Maybe if he could be a better Captain, they--but no. He knows why he cannot change this, he has to remember. Hates it.)

He thinks Rex is angry, which--makes sense, in a way. Je’kai _wants_ to be angry. “Why?” the Captain snaps out, finally, short and sharp and frustrated, and Je’kai thinks he understands.

There are layers to that question, but the first one is _why did that happen._ Why a scar. Why did Krell draw his saber. Je’kai closes his eyes, breathes (and that _hurts,_ gods), swallows hard. Opens his eyes again. “We were on a campaign on Hoth,” he says, very low, after a quick glance back at his bunk--but Naas is okay, somewhat, and that is because of Rex, and that is a good thing, at least. “Chasing down some clankers for some reason, we weren’t told,” and he shrugs one shoulder, rueful. “Cold as hells, there, and we didn’t have cold-weather gear. Most of us could handle it, but Naas--he was just ‘66, then--he’s not good at compartmentalization, and he was cold. Made noise.”

He sighs, runs a hand over the scar, out of habit, and then grimaces and drops his hand. Deliberately doesn’t look at Rex, because he--the other Captain does not _understand,_ that this is the way things _are,_ and he is too angry. “The general wasn’t pleased. It’s how Naas got his name,” and he shrugs again. “Krell told him if he made another noise he’d leave him behind to freeze, so I stepped in, got too close to his saber. Karked my HUD up and I couldn’t see out of half of it for the rest of the mission, but it was worth it.”

Worth it, to draw the general’s attention off Naas. And the cold had numbed the burn, which was nice. It would’ve hurt like hells otherwise.

Before the Captain can answer, the ARC trooper, Fives, steps up behind Je’kai (and it is all Je’kai can do not to flinch, to just turn and take a step back so he can see both), says bitterly, “Look, Rex, I _told_ you, Krell’s _wrong._ You can’t listen to him.”

And Je’kai thinks he knows where the ARC trooper is going with this, and _no._ But he--he cannot tell them this, not unless--the Captain will refuse. He’s sure of it. (He hopes so.)

“Is _that,”_ and Fives gestures at Je’kai himself, “enough to satisfy your _honor?”_

Rex looks--torn, Je’kai thinks, swallowing and gritting his teeth, and _gods, gods, gods,_ he cannot. They _can’t._ It’s not how it _works._ “I don’t know, Fives,” Rex says, rough and raspy, and that is not _good enough,_ gods.

“Look,” Fives says again, tiredly, “try calling the General, or the _Commander,_ for kriff’s sake, if it would make you feel better.”

And _no._ “Don’t,” Je’kai snaps, _fast,_ and shakes his head. “You can’t. I _need you_ to--listen to me, on this one.” _Gods,_ if they--if _he_ finds out… no. Je’kai _will not._

“Why not?” Rex asks, turning to him, a light in his eyes. “This could _fix it, vod._ Our General won’t let him--won’t let this go on.”

Je’kai shakes his head. Hard. “We _tried_ that, already,” he says, through gritted teeth, stares straight ahead of him so he doesn’t have to meet their eyes. “Ten of us. We attempted to talk to--other Jedi about the problems.”

“And?” asks Fives, quickly.

And Je’kai snaps his eyes to meet the ARC trooper’s gaze, says, clearly, “And we were found out. One,” and _gods,_ he doesn’t want to talk about this, “He killed one of them. The rest were _reconditioned._ And I was left to _ensure this does not happen again._ So no. I will _not.”_

And he turns, pushes past both troopers, to his bunk, pulls his datapad out and sits down.

He has casualty reports to write.

He might as well do _something_ useful with his time. Something besides watch memories on a constant live-action replay, running circles through his brain.

 _Gods,_ he wants this campaign _over._

He wants things to be _normal,_ again.

~~~

Surely Rex can’t keep on _pretending_ like this anymore.

Fives watches Je’kai go, for a second, then rounds on his Captain with a glare, because he’s not going to just let that slide, and Rex- Rex can’t seriously plan to ignore that, can he? “We have to call them, _vod,”_ he says, fierce. General Skywalker can fix this, if they call him - he’d show up and rip Krell a new one, because General Skywalker cares about his _karking men._

Rex glances at Je’kai, seems to hesitate, then sighs. “Fine. But we can’t let them know we’re calling.”

Fives understands. He thinks the 607th, and their Captain, would be terrified if they knew, so he’ll be subtle. He’ll pretend he hasn’t done a damn thing, but he’s going to tell General Skywalker _every kriffing thing_ and Skywalker is going to make it better.

Because Rex won’t.

And Fives isn’t… isn’t exactly angry at him, but he _is._ Because his Captain is better than this, better than _doing nothing_ while all of them get _killed._ And he understands leaving the wounded, he understands hard orders. What he does _not_ understand is how Rex isn’t _fighting,_ can’t he see they would all _listen to him?_

Maybe not Krell’s battalion. But Fives would follow his Captain, if he’d just _karking_ do something.

They go just outside the barracks, and Fives tunes into General Skywalker’s frequency on his wristcomm (his is better than Rex’s, newer - perks of being an ARC trooper). There’s a worrying amount of static, too loud, and Fives grits his teeth, adjusts the frequency a little. He has to be able to reach them.

Krell can’t keep doing this to his _vode._

There’s a small break in the static, just a moment of clarity, and Fives jumps on it. “Sir? General Skywalker, sir, can you read me? We need a response, General-” But the _gods-damned_ static is back, crackling, and then a long fuzz of nothing and the frequency drops.

Damn it. Damn it, damn it.

“I’m going to get them back,” Fives says, tries to get the frequency back, but Rex grabs his shoulder. “Kriffing let _go,_ Captain, I’m-” _There!_ Steady signal, for a second, and Fives shouts, scrambles to say _anything_ that would get Skywalker to come back. “Sir! Sir, you gotta come back, we need you. Krell is-” and it’s _lost again, no no no_ . _“Haar’chak!”_

“Fives.” Rex jostles his shoulder, catches Fives’ hand, but he needs to let go, Fives _has to get the signal back._ “Fives, if they heard any of that, they’ll be here.”

But what if none of it got through? What if no one’s coming, what if- Fives meets Rex’s eyes, hard. “You can’t wait long, Rex, you know that.”

Sometimes he doesn’t understand how Rex closes himself off so _fast,_ gets so stony and quiet. His Captain shakes his head, slowly. “I will do what I have to, Fives.”

That’s not good enough. “We’re only listening to Krell because you do, Rex.” They’d all follow him, why can’t he just…?

They wouldn’t follow Fives. It’s not the same. They like him, they respect him, but he is not their Captain.

“I know,” Rex says, growls more like, but Fives still can’t figure him out. So he lets it go. For now.

“Hardcase had an idea,” he says, slowly.

“Hardcase,” Rex repeats.

“Yeah.” Fives knows, Hardcase having ideas is Bad, don’t let Hardcase make the plan, he does stupid shit. But also, this plan is a _good one._ “We have some of the Umbarans’ codes. And we have their fighters.”

It’s a crazy plan, but not half as crazy as staying here. Not half as crazy as _Krell’s_ plan. Not half as crazy as General Skywalker doing nearly the _exact same thing_ when he was _nine_ (literally nine, no doubled aging involved).

He doesn’t even care _how_ crazy it is as long as it gets them the _hells_ out of here, back to their real General.

He wants this campaign over before he loses any more _vode_ to Krell’s gods-damned suicide strategies.

* * *

 

Je’kai has not been this _exhausted_ in, he thinks, a very long time.

He is exhausted, he is _afraid,_ yes--but those are normal, those are always-there, just… not in this great of quantities. And he is _angry,_ too, but that is usual.

But--

No. No more.

He has never been allowed to _burn,_ because Krell doesn’t like that, but Je’kai doesn’t _care_ anymore. Because this--this is _too much,_ this is so far beyond _right_ that he cannot breathe from the weight of it all, and he _will not_ accept it. His men--he will not ask them, will not ask them to follow, because he knows they will be afraid, and he knows the rules. Hells, he _made_ some of the rules, and he thinks perhaps the only _vod_ more terrified than he himself is right now is Naas.

Rule number one is _never challenge the general._

But the most important rule Je’kai has _ever_ lived by is _you don’t kill brothers,_ not _vode,_ and Je’kai thinks--he thinks that Captain Rex is right.

_Men, not clones._

And the rules he and the battalion live by, those are for safety, for survival, for _protection,_ slim as it is; those are the rules that make them _numbers,_ that make them _less,_ because it is better to be _less_ than to be--gone. To be lost.

But you _never_ ever kill _vode._

And Je’kai knows many of his men are as horrified as he is, and will follow him, and will follow _Rex,_ and so he strides forward (hands tight around his blasters) so he can catch up to the other Captain. (He has watched from the beginning, the way the 501st _vode_ interact with each other, the way Rex had smiled at his Commander, the casual compliment Skywalker had delivered and how easily Rex had accepted it, and he has _ached,_ and he has _wanted,_ and he knows his brothers ache and want, too.)

Rex is helmetless, _furious,_ his eyes burning bright gold-brown, and Je’kai wonders, distantly, how two pairs of identical eyes can look so _different._

(Rex is a far better Captain than Je’kai ever could be.)

“I won’t force them,” Je’kai says, abrupt, focusing on their surroundings, just in case there _are_ Umbarans out there waiting to ambush them again. “None of them. And I will _not_ let you force them either. But the ones who are willing… you have them. Sir.” He takes a careful breath (and _ah,_ gods, his ribs hurt, but that has to _not matter,_ so he makes it nothing), in and out. “You have the battalion. They’ll follow you.”

“I understand,” Rex says, very low, very firm, stone but sharper, _dangerous._ “I don’t take that lightly, Je’kai.”

Je’kai nods, once. “Neither do they.” It’s an acknowledgement, two ways, of the trust he’s offering to Rex here: _have my men,_ he’s saying, _take them, protect them,_ but it’s not just _his choice._ They’ve all made it. Even--he thinks maybe even Naas will choose to go, because-- “There were rules,” he says, abruptly. “I made most of them. Rules for surviving. Rule number one, never challenge the general.” It’ll only get you killed, or worse. “But-- _brothers.”_

Rex nods. Doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t _need to;_ Je’kai isn’t looking for an answer. It’s just a statement. That he is breaking the most important rule of survival, and so are his men, because--because brothers, because his _vode,_ are more important.

(He was never meant to be their Captain, but when the position suddenly opened up, as the most senior, as the bravest, how could he refuse? They needed him, his brothers, and he would not let them down. Because what are they, without their brothers? What do they have if not their _vode?)_

So he will fight, even though it terrifies him. He will fight, not just for his own men, but for _all_ his _vode,_ in all three of these battalions. For his _aliit._

Because without them, what would he become?

~~~

Rex has worked hard to earn the trust of his _vode,_ since the jaig eyes. He fights to protect his men, puts them first _always_ because who else do they have?

That is why he refused to execute Fives and Jesse, why (he thinks) the 607th is following him now. Because he _protects them._

Except for here. Here, he has failed them, broken his own code of honor.

He's _killed them._ His **_vode_ ** **.** Cody’s men. _Waxer_ is gone. So many of them. His own battalion is _half_ the size it used to be.

That many _vode._

He is _sick,_ nauseous and cold, but he can ignore it now, because he _burns._ He will not take any more of this _(and if you had acted sooner how many could you have saved?)_ , will not let Krell hurt any more of _his brothers._ He knows what he was asking all of them, the 607th the most: they were born and trained to be one thing, the thing Krell makes of them, and that is all. The command structure is their life and you _do not_ stray outside it.

Because the Generals are right, and they are just soldiers, and soldiers do not get to decide.

But today they throw that most basic of regs, of _rules,_ away, because no. No more.

He should have done this sooner, he should have _fought_ sooner. He shouldn't have let _any_ of this happen, should have known as soon as Krell, without even _looking at him,_ had snapped out _CT-7567_ and taken away Rex’s _name,_ had taken Fives’ and Je’kai’s, too, and Je’kai had told him _easier if you use numbers around the general._

Rex waited too long, before. _Now_ he is going to find out _why this._ And then he is going to kill Krell.

He grips his helmet tight in both hands, and as the airbase comes into view again, settles it on his head so he is stone and unreadable, so there is some measure of safety from all of them looking at him, so the shatter-thin cracks in his self-control can only worry him. Then he holds up a fist and turns, to face all of them, heart pounding to the beat of their footsteps. They stop and so, for a moment, does he.

He cannot fail them again.

“I want two squads with me,” he says sharply. “We're taking the control room; I want to arrest Krell there.” He hopes he can make that work, but he is not a fool. “I need the rest of you down here, in case he gets past us. If any of you don't want to do this - the barracks are there. We'll keep him away from you.”

None of his men or the 212th move. A few of the 607th fidget; they will probably leave when they get to the base, and that is alright. They've been fighting with Krell too long.

But Rex knows that _dar’jetii_ or no, Krell is just one, in the end.

Rex knows that Jedi can be killed.

_(The rocks crash into the speeder and send it and Ahsoka screaming to the ground, and her leg snaps so badly he can see bone, and she screams under his hands because Kenobi can do no more for her than shift bone and hope it is not ruined for good. They are an execution force for their Jedi, and they would have succeeded.)_

Now that is good.

So they resume the march to the airbase, and Rex draws his DCs, glances at Cody’s bracer on his arm and remembers Ahsoka telling him to _be careful_ and clings so tight to his anger, to every burning edge of pain.

Enough.

No more of this for _his vode._

The airbase is dark, and silent, which means either Krell has not seen them coming and he does not care, or he's waiting for them and it's a trap, or else he doesn't know yet what's come for him.

A few of his _vode_ split off to go back to the barracks, and the 607th’s medic, Beten, goes too. Kix (movements sharp and tight and perfect and _raging)_ sends Sniper, one of the junior medics with them, too. Good. Rex nods at Kix, an apology and promise and thank you all at once.

Kix nods back.

It is too late to fix all that has happened - but it is not too late to avenge it.

“Torrent Company, with me - except for you, Kix,” Rex growls, “And I need volunteers for the second squad.” He will not bring anyone to face Krell directly who does not agree to come. This will be the most dangerous thing, he thinks.

If they’re careful and lucky, Krell will never leave the tower.

Most of the second squad is men from the 212th, some (including Brii and Alpha and Beta) from the 501st, and only a very few from the 607th, Je’kai among them. Rex grips his blasters painfully tight and half-smiles, half-snarls behind his helmet. “The rest of you _be ready._ I can’t guarantee we can take him.” But he will try. He’s lost enough brothers on this campaign, he can’t fail them this time.

He and his two squads march nearly-silent into the main tower, take the turbolift up to the command center, and Rex hopes that the lack of reaction from Krell means he doesn’t understand or know what’s happening. More likely, it means _danger,_ and he looks at Fives and Echo for reassurance, gets a small nod from his _vod’ika_ and a salute from Fives.

Adrenaline sparks anxious and unstable, unhelpful, as the lift comes to a smooth stop, and Rex looks back at his squads, at Je’kai and Fives and Hang-up. For them. He’s got to make this work, for them. “We form a perimeter,” he says steadily. “Around the room, cover him from all sides. Stay back unless I give a signal.” The command center is small; if Krell engages him with his sabers they could very well all be killed. Rex doesn’t plan to allow that.

“Yes sir,” Fives says, fierce and low and _exultant,_ almost.

Rex wishes he could feel anything other than dread and certainty, about this.

He turns back to face the door, holds up his blasters, nods once.

The command center doors hiss open, nearly in slow motion.

Krell does not turn to face them, even as Rex lifts his hand in the signal to _move._ He leads the way into the command center, counts the beat of his footsteps, watches Krell’s hands where they rest folded behind his back. There is no movement for his sabers, but that does not mean safety. Rex’s men circle around the room, draw tense lines around Krell, all of them with blasters up, ready. Rex lifts his own, relishes the weight in his palms, the threat of his sights trained on Krell’s back, breathe in, breathe out, let it _burn._

“General Krell,” he says, final, fierce, “You are relieved of duty.”

Krell moves ponderous, slow, but _fluid_ (like a rockslide, like an avalanche), turns to face Rex, and he just looks _amused._ Rex grits his teeth, meets Krell’s eyes and finds some vicious pleasure in the fact that Krell cannot see his face, does not yet _understand_ that Rex is going to make him pay.

“So it’s treason, then,” Krell says, almost soft.

Rex is not the traitor, here. And if he _is,_ he does not care. “Surrender, General,” he growls, lets the sentence mean _or else._ Or else they _will make him._

Krell steps closer to him, still cool, and his eyes are laughing. Rex thinks he believes they cannot do this, believes (somehow), that this is still his game and his rules. It is not. “You’re committing mutiny, Captain,” and it’s a warning of his own.

This is not mutiny, this is _right,_ this is for his _brothers._

“Explain your actions,” Rex growls, lets the stone crack a little, let’s out some of the rage and the _sickness,_ because if it burns, he cannot be _afraid_ of this.

 _“My_ actions?” Krell is so smooth, and it is a game to him, all of this.

Rex is sick of this, of _him._ “For ordering your troops against one another!” Making them do what they can _never,_ making them kill their _vode._

“Oh. _That.”_ Krell _smiles,_ rubs his chin contemplatively, as if just remembering that he has just shattered every last one of them. Rex thinks he does not understand that they are not _just_ shattered, that they will break him in turn. “I’m surprised you were able to figure it out, for a clone.”

Rex glances at Fives, who nods to Echo and gives a small hand signal: _forward._ The circle of clones tightens, and Rex sees hands tightening on triggers.

It is all tension drawn tight enough to snap, and Rex grits his teeth, readies his finger on the trigger. _“Surrender,_ General. You’re outnumbered.”

His gut _twists,_ and Krell flings out all four hands with a _snarl,_ and Rex can’t even _try_ to fight the wave of pure energy that crashes into him, slams him back to crash against a row of databanks. He barely registers Krell igniting his sabers, a roar of amusement, of fury, “You _dare_ to attack a _Jedi?”_

Up, he has to get up.

Rex is on his feet almost as fast as Fives, shooting one-two-three-four as precise and easy as breathing, but Krell is so much _easier,_ twirls his sabers and one-two-three-four-five of Rex’s men fall. The _dar’jetii_ twists to face Rex, stabs a saber back into one of Rex’s troops with a growl, and hisses, “I will _not_ be undermined by creatures bred in some _laboratory!”_

Rex fires twice, fast, and Krell blocks both shots and turns, cuts down two more (one-two) and smashes through the window of the command center, and Rex lunges after him but Krell’s already out of his reach, landing in a low crouch on the ground below.

“Kix,” he says, on the helmet feed, sharp.

“I see him, Captain,” Kix answers.

Rex hesitates, just a second, feels almost like he is not here, like this is not happening, as Krell charges his battalions, his _vode,_ and the two double-bladed sabers can still be heard from _here._

Then he spins, fast, signals _with me,_ and sprints for the lift so he can _get to his men._

He can’t fail them, not anymore, not this time.

No more.

~~~

This is all so _wrong._

Kix has felt that, this whole time, as more and more _vode_ die, as he runs out of bacta and painkillers and stims, as he starts to see the signs of hidden injuries he can’t do a damn _thing_ about because even if the troopers of the 607th would _admit_ to being hurt, he doesn’t have the supplies. And the--it nudges at him, always, whispers _I’m here, little one, let me help you,_ and _wrong, wrong, wrong,_ and he can’t ignore it, so much, now.

Because you _don’t kill brothers._

And that’s what Krell has just made them do.

He clenches his hands around his blaster, follows behind his Captain as they slink through the shadowy forest. Krell--he’s no _general,_ not anymore, not after what he’s made them _do_ with that power--has disappeared, like he’d never been here in the first place, and that’s _wrong,_ too.

_(Here, little one, look this way.)_

Kix zooms in on his HUD, peering through the splashes of heavy darkness, following that threat of instinct, of--more, more than instinct, the awareness of _ice_ and heavy, stifling Dark and--and _gods,_ he is not supposed to feel this, but--

But Jedi are not supposed to do _any of this._

Jedi don’t strip away their men’s names, don’t turn them into something less than Human, don’t draw their sabers on a Captain just trying to protect his troops.

(Je’kai is at Rex’s right shoulder, his blasters out, but his hands are shaking and that is _not right.)_

So if Jedi are no longer going to act like Jedi, then Kix will--Kix will not act like he is _just a clone,_ just a soldier (he’s _not_ a soldier, he heals). Because he is not, he has never been, and this is--

_Wrong, wrong, wrong._

So.

He will listen, and he will follow, and--yes, _there._

“Captain, I’ve got a visual,” he says sharply, pulls his blaster up even though he _knows_ that will do no good. “Some thirty meters out, your ten o’clock.”

“I see him,” Rex says back--Krell has his sabers out, so vivid, so bright, searing Kix’s eyes almost, and it’s like the Besalisk Jedi _(not a Jedi, no, wrong wrong wrong, little one,_ **_listen)_ ** can feel their gazes on him because his head snaps up and focuses, and then he _jumps_ up into the trees and he’s gone, and shit shit shit. “He’s coming.”

Kriff.

But good, Kix thinks. _(You cannot win alone, little one, please listen.)_ If Krell comes to them, they can set this on their own terms.

Of sorts.

And then:

 _“You should have listened to the ARC trooper, Captain,”_ a voice--it’s Krell, but twisted and distorted--echoes, from all around them, and Kix spins around trying to find the source even as he _knows_ (knows) that will be useless. _(Listen.)_ And there’s _laughter,_ all around them (and a distant part of him finds it funny, how--stereotypical _evil villain_ that laugh is, like some of the dumber enemies on Hero With No Fear, he swears they have a canned _maniacal laugh_ track for them), and then, _“He was right. I_ **_was_ ** _using you!”_

And more laughter, and _gods,_ Kix wishes that didn’t send a chill running down his spine, or something cold flashing through his head, like ice water down the back of his neck. _(Listen, listen, listen.)_ He shakes his head, trying to clear it, tightens his grip on his blaster, puts his back to a tree and aims over Rex’s shoulder into the center of the clearing, at a knot of maybe five _vode_ all standing back-to-back.

He wants to shout at them to move.

_Little one!_

And Krell comes _slamming_ down into the ground, right _there,_ only one saber out (but even as Kix watches he pulls his blue one out again), and just--one, two moves and they’re _gone, gods,_ no. “You have _all_ been my pawns!” the _dar’jetii_ shouts gleefully, and then he’s _moving,_ cutting through brothers like chaff, like _nothing,_ and gods.

Kix aims and fires, almost on autopilot, as Krell cuts down two more _vode,_ deflecting blaster bolts without a care for where they land (and one slams back into the tree just above his head and Kix _jerks),_ and then suddenly he--

What is he _doing?_

He puts his sabers away, on his belt, and _rolls_ across the ground, pops up in the middle of another tangle of troopers (and Kix sees Tup among them, the distinctive teardrop on his helmet), and the--something _screams_ and Krell grabs one _vod,_ throws him away, punches another in the face so hard he hears plastoid _crack_ and crumple, catches Tup by an arm and sends him _flying, gods,_ and--

 **_Now,_ ** _you_ **_must move now._ **

Kix does not move.

(He can’t, that means--)

And Krell grabs another _vod,_ lifts him high above his head, and (something _shrieks, shrieks, shrieks) slams_ him down across his knee, and Kix hears the _vod’s_ back _snap_ and armor shatter even as he _screams,_ and--

**_NOW!_ **

The world goes _white,_ with rage and horror, and Kix hardly even knows what he’s _doing,_ but his blaster isn’t _enough_ and so he fires one-two-three-four and holsters it, hears Rex say, “Kix, what are you _doing,”_ but there’s no _time_ for that because--

It told him to move and he didn’t.

And his _vod_ is screaming on the ground.

So.

No more.

 _Help me,_ Kix asks, _almost_ growls it, and it--the _Force,_ it responds, and Krell is turning to face them and Kix pushes past Rex and _reaches_ out with a hand, thinks, _I need a saber._

Because you cannot fight a Jedi--or a _dar’jetii--_ with a blaster.

He pulls his bucket off with one hand and drops it, because it’s in the _way,_ armor is too _bulky_ (but he can make do), and then the cool (it warms so, so quickly to his touch) metal of one of Krell’s double-bladed sabers smacks easy into his palm and Kix thinks _show me what to do._

For a moment everything _freezes,_ as he thumbs the switches and the blades hum to life, and Kix thinks he sees _fear_ sudden on Krell’s face before it’s wiped away with smugness. “You dare think you are _worthy_ of wielding a lightsaber?”

Kix has had some training with vibroblades, and with staffs, but mostly--mostly it was just blasters. Because he’s a medic, not a soldier. He fights, yes, but he spends more time on the battlefield helping the wounded than taking down clankers. But he _knows,_ easy and instinctive, how to adjust his feet, how to hold the double-bladed saber, and it is not _him_ that knows. So he shrugs one shoulder and says, deceptively calm, “The Force does, and that’s good enough for me.”

“You don’t know how to use it,” Krell says, derisive, and pulls out his other saber, his green one. “You will die like the rest, but maybe _slower,_ for your presumption.” _Gods._

Kix snorts, narrows his eyes. “You really shouldn’t say shit like that,” and then he lets himself smile, just a little, because the Force (the _Force,_ he’s not-- _termination--_ but no, worry about that _after,_ this now) is fury and thrill and exultation humming across his skin and rushing through his blood, _like this, little one,_ and Krell has _no idea._ “I don’t _have_ to know how to use it,” Kix spits out, and Krell _leaps_ and it’s so-- _shift, here, twist your wrist--_ so simple to just _flow_ with the motion. “I know how to _ask nicely.”_

Krell is all rage and raw _power,_ brute strength, and he’s not used to having an opponent with an _equal weapon._ It’s clear from the way he _moves_ that he relies on being the biggest and the strongest one in the room (and Kix would like to see Krell try to fight Commander Tano, _that_ would be entertaining), and he still _is_ the biggest and strongest but he’s _slow._

Not as slow as he _should be,_ for his size.

That’s a miscalculation, and it means _pain_ on his arm, _kriff,_ focusing, it’s just a line of fire down the outside of his upper arm, weakens him but he can fight through it. _This way, little one,_ and Kix thinks he _could_ kill Krell for the casual way he leaves himself open to attack to stab a saber through another _vod_ (that one is Rifle, Kix _knows him,_ younger, got his name because--not _now,_ focus). Could, but--can’t.

Because they still don’t know _why._

The Force has plans, has ideas, and they flash through his head almost too fast to comprehend, and it’s all Kix can do to concentrate on the back-and-forth flex of metal in his palms, twist _up_ and _down_ and under a strike, use _speed_ to stay out of reach, and he silently pleads _slow down, I can’t keep up,_ feels a hum of _apology_ and a slight withdrawing of the _everything,_ and that’s good.

Good.

He can feel a surge of different emotions from the _vode_ all around, still ready to fire, to fight, anger and fear and confusion, and there’s one _very loud_ splash of something that feels like _finally,_ and Kix knows that’s his _ori’vod,_ that’s Jesse, and he sighs a little. Ducks under another strike.

He can’t keep this up for too long, this saber is too _heavy_ for him and not the right size, and he’s not in shape to be doing this (he’s already tired, running on stims and spite and _anger,_ and probably some of the Force too), and this--Krell can outlast him and then kill him and kill his _vode_ too and _no more._

No more.

Krell isn’t used to having only one saber; it’s unbalancing him, leaving his right side open to attacks, and he keeps having to compensate. If Kix gets in too close, Krell will just grab him with his two free hands, but--

It’s an idea.

But Kix isn’t as _strong,_ Kix struggles to hold his own in a bladelock against the Besalisk with _both hands_ on the saber, and he’s _tired_ and Krell is fresh, because Krell has not had to fight (Krell has not been on the front lines). Krell is strong enough to snap a man in _half,_ armor and all.

Kix _burns._

He lets Krell lunge for him again, blocks once, twice, and then reverses his grip on the saber’s hilt, lets the sabers hiss together and hum and _burn,_ and he snaps his arm out straight (which gives him space to work, if only for a second, an instant) and grits his teeth because ah, _gods,_ he’s so _strong,_ and his blaster is in his left hand and _now, little one,_ and his thumb finds the switch to flip to stun and he brings his hand up and aims and _fires._

And the blue pulse hits Krell’s open torso (and he _could have killed him)_ and the pressure forcing the sabers towards his neck releases, and Kix lets out a heavy breath and _swears_ as the Besalisk falls. _Gods._ His arms are burning and it’s almost too much to deactivate the saber’s blades and tuck the hilt away.

They need to--binders, cuff him, Kix shakes his head to try and clear it (the Force won’t go away, now, it’s so _loud_ and gods it’s so much, but it’s--good, he thinks), wipes sweat off his forehead, panting.

And someone _cheers._

Fives, Kix thinks, and he shakes his head again, says, “Fives, shut up and cuff him before he wakes up again.”

That’s an _effort,_ to get the words out. It’s so _much._ It’s easier to just--no. Focus. _Can you--ease off, a little?_ he asks, silently, and the Force pulls back, just a little.

Says, _you need rest, little one._

Kix bites his lip to keep from smirking. _I can sleep when I’m dead,_ he says back, feels the Force’s extreme displeasure with that statement. _I will, once we’ve got this mess all cleaned up._

 _Gods,_ he’s tired.

~~~

Rex is running half on autopilot, simply because he’s too shocked to do otherwise.

For a moment, Krell had just been _power,_ horrible and too close, killing his _brothers_ with his bare hands, and really there was nothing Rex could do, and then.

 _Then,_ holy kriffing _shit._

Kix had holstered his blaster, yanked his helmet off and dropped it, so angry and fierce Rex half-expected him to charge Krell _barehanded,_ but then he _felt_ it, instinctive and sucking the air out of his lungs, and Krell’s saber had jolted off his belt and _into Kix’s outstretched hand_ and _what the everloving kriff?_

Rex doesn’t think he exactly _knows_ what happened after that; he’d just moved, just acted like he would if that were Ahsoka or Skywalker fighting Krell: form a perimeter, shoot when you can, don’t _kriffing hit Kix._

 _Kix._ With a karking _saber._

And of course, he can’t forget, the _karking Force!_

Kix was tired, he knows, but Kix was _angry_ and Kix had apparently been having a nice chat with the Force _(the Force likes to be asked nicely,_ Ahsoka tells them, and _karking hells,_ Rex can see why _that_ makes a difference), so he got injured _once_ but it hadn’t slowed him down, and he was _much_ stronger than he should be, and Rex had only caught the move because he’s been fighting with Ahsoka and General Skywalker so long: Kix pushing for just a little more space, loosing a hand, and a jolt of motion and there was a blaster pistol in that hand suddenly, and _do it, kill him._

It was just a stun blast that struck Krell’s torso, but that was enough.

And Krell is down. And Rex can’t actually decide what to do.

Kix stands heaving for breath over Krell’s fallen form, and Fives is fumbling for restraints, calls Echo to help, and Rex tugs his helmet off, finds Kix’s on the ground and strides over to his medic, finds he suddenly wants to laugh.

“Well, _vod,”_ he says, casually, holding out the helmet. Kix takes it automatically, looks… Rex isn’t sure. Shocked, he’d guess. Worn out. “You’ve been holding out on me.” Kix swallows, lets his hand fall against his side, and Rex nods at his injury. “Tuck should look at that. You good?”

“Yeah.” Kix shakes his head a little, glances over at Krell, then back at Rex. “Yeah, I’m good.”

 _“It’s about damn time!”_ Jesse comes scrambling over (he has a blaster hole in his pauldron, from a stray shot, most likely, and Rex wonders if he’s even noticed), beaming, and Rex snorts. Of course _Jesse_ knows. “I _told_ you you could do it, _vod!”_

Kix offers Jesse a half smile, although Rex thinks he’s suddenly overwhelmed, so he claps Kix on the shoulder and lets Jesse worry about him. Overhears him say something about termination as he turns away.

Which is not an option. Rex almost wants to _laugh_ at the idea of someone trying to take his _vode,_ now. Which means adrenaline wearing off, coming down from a high. But he’d like to see anyone _kriffing try._

Fives and Echo and couple others of the 501st have Krell, Brii is limping but he’s grinning, Je’kai is helmetless and has his arm around a cringing _vod_ in unpainted armor.

There are _so many dead._

And the Umbarans will have noticed the disturbance, he’s sure. They need to get back to the tower, get Krell locked up where he can’t hurt them, and then he can plan from there.

Because unless they can get a confession, or evidence - no one will accept the word of clones over that of a Jedi.

But for now. For now he gets them back.

So he turns around, says, “Kix, get your medics and find the wounded so we can get them back to the tower. Take whatever men you need, but be quick.”

Kix nods at him, with something like gratefulness in his eyes, and Jesse pats Kix’s shoulder (good _vod,_ Jesse) and says, “I’ll help, _ori’vod.”_

Good.

Rex lets Je’kai worry about his panicking _vod,_ quickly paces through his battalions, checking to make sure they’re all here, all managing, finds a few stragglers from the 607th half-panicking and alone. Once he thinks he’s collected back all his able-bodied brothers, he stands in front of them again (and still fewer of them are left, now, but Krell is contained, so. So no more. He did his best) and says, “You did good, _vode._ When we get back, I want patrols stationed, and I want the techs in the command center. We need to be able to get a signal to the Generals.”

If they can contact Kenobi or Skywalker, their Jedi can vouch for them. Without that…

Rex wants to _stop._

But not yet.

So he looks at Krell, finds the smoldering anger still low in his gut and makes that all he can think about, because then he is not hurting, then he isn’t _thinking,_ isn’t tired.

He turns, pressing his helmet so tight against his side that he thinks it could dent his armor, and signals to _move out._

Back to the airbase and a measure of safety.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for more Krell being awful in this chapter--it's all verbal. also mentions of slavery.

The comm comes through while they’re in hyperspace, trailing a crime boss who apparently had made an attempt on Chancellor Palpatine’s life. It’s nothing more than a burst of static across the _Twilight’s_ comms, and then a burst of dialogue, garbled by distance and static but there.

 _“Sir? General Skywalker, sir, can you read me? We need a response, General--”_ and gone.

But Ahsoka had heard enough to recognize the voice as Fives, even with all the interference, and he sounded _scared._

Anakin fumbles with the long-range comms (leaving the actual piloting to her), starts messing around and swearing heavily in Huttese, trying to get the signal back, because _Fives_ is _never scared._

The static breaks again, for half a second, long enough to hear a shouted, desperate, _“Sir! Sir, you gotta come back, we need you. Krell is--”_

And gone. Again.

Krell is _what?_

“Come _on,”_ Anakin growls, swearing. “Worthless hunk of _junk,_ get it _back._ Artoo! Get them _back,_ now.”

Artoo beeps after a moment, dismal, and Ahsoka swears too, because they _never should have left_ in the first place, everything felt _wrong, wrong, wrong_ and now something has Fives scared enough to try and comm them when they’re on a mission. “We _have_ to get back, Master,” she says softly, and Anakin nods.

“Yeah. Artoo, keep trying. Get us out of hyperspace and back to Umbara _now.”_

They’ll be fine, Ahsoka tells herself, clenching her hands into fists around her saber hilts. They’ll be fine, Rex will be fine, they’ll get there in time.

_We need you. Krell is…_

Kriff.

They _never_ should have left.

~~~

Everything is so, so _silent._

Eerily so, Cody thinks, especially after the screams and shrieking blaster bolts and explosions of battle. It’s dark everywhere, even the airbase doesn’t appear lit - Cody would say lifeless, except that cannot be right.

But he hasn’t heard from Waxer, or Rex, or _anyone._ Kenobi thinks the Umbarans must have jammed their signals, but… they’ve won now, and there are still no comms coming through from the 501st or Ghost Company.

The compound is too exposed, Cody thinks, as they come down the road and close, and he looks at Kenobi, sees his General hiding a worried frown. At first, he doesn’t think there’s anyone there, but then he picks up movement, white and blue, mostly, and good. He marches a little faster, scanning the scene, reaching for his blaster, because Krell said the enemy had clone armor (the _501st’s_ armor), and everything is so _damn_ quiet, and comms aren’t getting through, but they haven’t been fired on as they approached either.

It’s the voices that register first, then the lack of helmets, and relief hits hard - although not for long, because once Cody is close enough to see and recognize Kix, Rex’s medic (and a conversation cuts off as everyone in the courtyard turns to look at them), he can also see all the _bodies,_ laid out in rows across the courtyard, closer to the airbase tower. He hopes those are Umbaran bodies, not… not his _vode,_ because _so many._

But the troops would not bother collecting _Umbaran_ bodies. Not with an attacking force on the way.

So.

Kix strides towards them, and Cody’s focus is snapped away from the rows of dead _(vode?)_ to the medic, and General Kenobi says, tense, “What’s the situation, Kix?”

“Where’s Scratch?” Kix snaps, and Cody’s medic pushes through a few _vode,_ frowning.

“Here, Kix.”

“I have wounded. A lot of them. _Bad._ And I don’t have _any kriffing supplies_ left, just some gods-damned bandages and sedatives.”

That is not good. Cody bites down the question he wants to ask - _where’s Rex?_ because that isn’t exactly priority at the moment.

“Krell is a traitor so I’ve got karking _saber wounds_ to deal with and _no bacta,”_ Kix adds, and Scratch is shouting for the junior medics, grabbing at Cody’s pack (because Cody carries bacta patches and painkillers and an extra stim shot), scrambling to help the 501st’s medics with what are apparently _more_ wounded _vode._ Kix looks done talking, and Cody thinks he should let him get to the wounded, so.

“Jesse!” Kenobi calls, and Jesse hurries over, looking more tired than Cody’s seen him since he was acting Captain. “Jesse, _what happened?”_

Jesse looks at Cody, grimaces, and Cody resists the urge to shake him. Patience. He’s got to calm down. “Krell betrayed us,” he says, stiffly. “We went out to fight the Umbarans, heard they were wearing our armor, but it was… Ghost Company. Sorry, sirs. So Captain Rex arrested Krell and- he said he’d reveal Republic secrets to the Umbarans and Seppies. We’ve got him in the brig.”

“Where is Rex?” Cody asks, calmly. He almost cannot think about what Jesse has said. It doesn’t make sense. He sent Ghost Company himself, he relayed the order.

“Barracks. I can comm him,” Jesse says. Cody thinks his _vod_ is going to collapse, if he stays on his feet much longer. His own men are tired, too - they’ve been pushing hard, with all the battles and the 501st not showing up to help, like they should have.

“No,” Cody says, nodding at Kenobi. “Just take us to the barracks, _vod._ You need rest.”

He pretends not to notice the flicker of relief that crosses Jesse’s face for a second.

Jesse told them what happened, but Cody doesn’t feel like he understands at all. It doesn’t make _sense,_ and everything’s a _disaster,_ and. And there are saber cuts and burns on the armor of many of the dead _vode._

He needs to see Rex.

_You were not here._

Jesse (stumbling, silent) leads them into the airbase, to what passes as a barracks (too cold and white and shiny, Cody thinks), and gestures vaguely inside. “You can talk to Rex,” he says, to Kenobi, then wanders over to a knot of troopers from Torrent Company.

Cody can’t find Rex for a second, but when he does he could almost _laugh_ because Rex is, in some ways, very predictable. His _ori’vod_ has his arms wrapped around Alpha, and Cody can see his face where Alpha cannot and recognizes the tightness around his eyes and jaw.

Then Rex pulls back from Alpha, looks up, meets Cody’s eyes, and Cody sees aching _exhaustion_ in his eyes for a moment, then Rex is easing past Alpha and striding (so close to a run) over to them both. Cody tugs his helmet off, steps up to meet his _ori’vod,_ grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him into a hug. Rex is so, so stiff, which is _not good._

“What took you so damn long?” Rex says quietly, like he’s trying to joke, but flat.

Kenobi is quiet a moment, but when Rex pulls back from Cody (so _damn_ professional, Cody needs _answers),_ Cody’s General nods to him, says, “It’s good to see you, Captain. Jesse gave us a summary of the situation, but I wonder if you could clarify it for us?”

Rex sighs, and his jaw tightens a little. “Yeah, sir. Just,” and he glances back at their _vode,_ hesitates. “Yeah, I can explain.”

Another _vod,_ with some red paint on his armor, short hair, tattooed face, walks over to them (there’s a _care_ to his steps that probably means injury, too), comes to weary attention, salutes General Kenobi. “I’m sorry for the disarray, sir, it’s been…” He stops, looks down, almost-fidgeting, and Cody glances at Rex, who sighs. “Busy.”

“Apparently so,” Kenobi says wryly, with a pained smile. “It’s alright, of course. What’s your name, trooper?”

The soldier stays at attention, and Rex grimaces as their _vod_ says, “Clone Captain CT-3181, sir.” He glances at Cody, winces a little. “Sirs.”

Cody smiles a little, nods, although he does not understand. Rex just looks resigned, which doesn’t make sense either. Kenobi gets that look he has when he’s trying to seem like everything’s fine; he smiles and puts his hands behind his back, deliberately casual. “You can tell me your call-sign, if you prefer, Captain.”

The Captain looks down, mutters, “Je’kai.” _Bait._ An interesting choice of names. Cody wants to ask _why bait,_ but it’s hardly the time for that and Rex just looks tenser and tenser.

“Very well,” Kenobi says, still smiling. He turns back to Rex, gestures around at the barracks. “Sitrep, Rex?”

Rex does not look at Kenobi when he answers; instead, he looks at Cody, and Cody tries to meet his eyes and be as reassuring as he can be. “General Krell told us that the Umbarans would be wearing clone armor and sent us out to fight them, our battalion and his. He was lying to us, and apparently he told the same thing to you.”

Cody nods.

“We fought. I figured out what was going on, so we came back here to arrest Krell. Took us a bit of a fight but we’ve got him in the brig. We questioned him, he said he was trying to become an apprentice to- I don’t really know, he said ‘Darth Sidious.’ Kind of assuming that’s bad.”

Cody huffs a little, earns a half-smile from Rex.

Kenobi does not look amused at all. “Thank you, Captain,” and Cody knows his General well enough to know he isn’t completely satisfied with that answer. “What can I help with?”

Rex blinks a little (and Cody notes that the other Captain, Je’kai, looks momentarily _confused),_ then glances around and sighs. “I don’t know, sir - we’re trying to get comms back up, but Kix has a lot of wounded, and he could… could use help with them.”

Cody does not _particularly_ want his General doing Force healing just now, Kenobi is exhausted enough as it is, so - “We’ll need comms,” he suggests, tries to sound disinterested. “We should contact General Skywalker about this.”

Kenobi nods. “You’re right. Cody, get the men settled in and,” he glances at Rex nods a little. “Take care of whatever else needs doing.” He smiles a little wryly. “I’m sure Anakin is going to like this transmission.”

Cody snorts. Yes, he’s sure that Rex’s General is going to react _very well_ to this update on their situation.

Sometimes Cody wishes he could let himself be as… forthright as General Skywalker. Just now he would like to pepper Rex with questions, get to the _bottom of this -_ but he cannot do that. Rex is too tired, and the troops all seem too _fragile_ for that. Hells, Rex seems breakable himself.

So he nods to Captain Je’kai again, grabs Rex into another hug as General Kenobi catches one of the less-tired looking members of Ghost Company and asks to be shown to the command center.

“I’m sorry,” Cody says gruffly, very quiet. Because he was not here, _again._ And he sent Waxer instead. He should have come.

Rex doesn’t answer him, just sags a little bit into his shoulder, puts his own arms around Cody, _tight._

“Do you know how many?” he asks, and it’s a hard question, but Rex is like him. Rex always knows how many, after a battle, either because he was counting or because he counts later.

Rex shakes his head. “Haven’t looked.” _Didn’t want to,_ Cody hears.

“Did you get them all?”

“All of them we could find. Cody, I’m sorry, Waxer is dead.”

Cody should have been the one to come. Better yet, he should never have sent Ghost Company at all, should have _known._

“We can go find out,” Cody says, because Rex does not want to know how many are dead but Cody thinks he will regret later, if he doesn’t know. And Cody needs to know too.

Rex tightens his arms for a second, then lets go and steps back, goes rigid again. “For the reports,” he says.

“Yeah, _ori’vod._ The reports.”

For their sanity. So they can sleep at night - or at least, so that that will not be the thing keeping them awake.

Rex turns on his heel, starts back out to the courtyard, and Cody stays at his elbow, to watch his back. The other Captain, Je’kai, follows too, and of _course_ Torrent Company.

At least this time Rex had his whole battalion looking out for him, when Cody was not.

At least this time Rex still has the bracer on his arm and (Cody assumes) the vibroknife in his gauntlet. Although Cody is beginning to think that is not enough, is just… useless, nearly.

At least this time Rex is in one piece, _fighting._ That will have to be good enough.

Or else Cody will not sleep anymore.

It is so dark outside, still, and in the dark the armored bodies don’t look right (someone took the time to take all the helmets off, to close their eyes, Cody would put credits on Kix if that were not so callous), don’t look real.

But he recognizes Ter’s striped, messy armor, and Mesh’s head tattoo (Mando’a lettering, says _a slow soldier is a dead soldier_ because Mesh was old enough to hear that from Jango), and- and Waxer’s paint and tally marks. And others, so _many_ of them, not even beginning to think about the _vode_ from the 501st he knows and the ones from the 607th he doesn’t.

He looks back at Waxer’s pained face, shakes his head very slowly, stiff. “Waxer,” he says quietly.

Rex nods.

“And Mesh. Ter.” He doesn’t mean to start the names now, but. When else. What else are they supposed to do? When they… if they have killed their _vode,_ except _remember?_

“Hardcase,” Rex says, _angry._ Tense. “Lofty.” He growls his names, and Cody thinks this is best, maybe. If they do this now. Because Rex needs- Cody isn’t sure what.

But they all need the remembering, so. The names.

~~~

Fives’ transmission traces to an airbase near the Umbaran capital, and Anakin sets the _Twilight_ down slow and careful, shuts everything down, flips a lever to send the ship’s ramp down to the ground. Ahsoka pushes herself out of her seat and follows her Master into the shadowy night, eyes wide, looking instinctively around for--something, she’s not sure what.

There’s row upon row of troopers all laid out, helmets under their arms, every last one of them, and they--there are _lightsaber burns_ in the armor, and oh _stars,_ oh kriff, what _happened?_ There’s so _many,_ most of them are in 501st blue and white, some no paint at all, many in orange (oh _Force),_ and just a few with dark red on their armor. She’s not sure what battalion that is. But that doesn’t _matter,_ because there’s a tangled knot of clones all standing around with their heads bowed and their hands on each others’ shoulders, and she _can’t find Rex._

Please, _no._

Obi-Wan is standing off to one side, and as she moves to run up to her men he grabs her arm (but careful, easy, because he _knows--_ she still flinches, but not so bad), says, low, “Stay back, we shouldn’t interrupt.”

“What the _kriff,_ Master?” Anakin asks, sharp, storming over. “I got a transmission from Fives, too much interference to really understand--he said they _needed us._ Where’s Master Krell?”

Something like _pain_ flashes over Obi-Wan’s face, and he says, tiredly, “Krell is a traitor.”

What the _everloving kriff._

“The _hells?”_ Anakin snaps. Hard, fast, but more _afraid_ than anything else. “I need more than that, Master, half my karking battalion’s laid out over there!”

“I don’t know much more than that, I’m _sorry,_ Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, and he relaxes just a little so Ahsoka tries to break free, but his hand tightens and he tugs her back against his chest, some. “Patience, Ahsoka. Rex is fine. I’ve spoken with him.” And he turns his attention back to Anakin. “Rex told me that Krell ordered the 501st and the 212th against each other--both battalions were informed that the enemy had clone armor--and that, after arresting Krell for treason, he admitted to…” and Obi-Wan sighs, shakes his head. “Darth Sidious, Anakin. One of our own was trying to get the attention of the _Sith Master.”_

“How did nobody _know?”_ Ahsoka asks, trying to wriggle free of his arms again, because _Rex is fine_ does _not_ mean _Rex is uninjured_ and she _wants him._ “He’s _Master Krell,_ how did--”

“I don’t _know,_ Ahsoka. We’ll have to question him ourselves.”

And then the knot of troopers breaks up, _finally,_ and Ahsoka looks around wide-eyed for the familiar blond hair and gold eyes and armor, but--there’s too _many soldiers,_ so she decides _kriff it_ and tugs away from Obi-Wan, shouts, “Rex!”

 _Several_ troopers in red-painted armor, and a few in just plain white, _flinch,_ but she pays them no mind, because the knot of men thins and _Rex_ is there, striding fast towards her, face set and tense and _angry,_ and _hells,_ she should’ve been here, should’ve been here, _wasn’t._

Force.

She takes a few swift steps and then suddenly his arms are tight around her, tugging her to his chest, and he leans down and kisses her _hard,_ and she kisses him back, desperate to reassure herself he’s _here,_ he’s _safe,_ he’s _okay._ Because _kriffing hells,_ so _many_ are gone, are lost, and… kriff.

Rex pulls back after a moment, and she leans her forehead into his collarbone, slides her right hand out of his hair to rest on his shoulder instead, fingers curling tight around the plastoid pauldron, whispers, _“Hells,_ Rex, what--what _happened?”_

~~~

Rex shouts the names till his voice is hoarse, lets them rip out of him like they have claws, like they are fire. He grabs Cody’s shoulder and pounds a hand on his own chest and says the numbers of the ones without names (there are too many of those), roars them into the dark like that is enough, and he feels brothers grabbing him, his armor - at one point Naas is there, shaky but patting his arm and Rex smothers his anger enough to touch his _vod’ika’s_ shoulder, reassuring. And then it's shouting again, rough and raw, “CT-0902, Dari, Kenic, Hawk,” and on and on and on until suddenly no one has anymore names. He has no more names, can remember no more, and it leaves him shaking and stony and helpless in all his anger and grief.

Cody says it, finally, sometimes the hardest one. “And all the ones we cannot recall.”

The ones who they do not remember, though they have to, because no one else will.

Cody grabs him (Cody did not shout, Cody was solemn and aching and tired) and pulls him in close, presses their foreheads together, and Rex finds tears on his own cheeks, hot and unwelcome.

“I'm sorry, _ori’vod,”_ Cody says.

Rex shakes his head, pulls back and rubs the tears away. “Don't apologize,” he says. It's all hard enough.

Then, desperate, loud, _achingly_ familiar, someone shouts, “Rex!” It's _his ‘Soka._ She came, she's back- He needs her.

So he pushes through his suddenly nervous brothers, sees Kenobi and General Skywalker behind her, and her blue, blue eyes are so worried.

He goes to her, fast, because he has to, pulls her into him where he can feel her, knows she's real and here, and curls a hand tight around the smooth skin of her montrals and kisses her, because she's real, she has to be real, she's here and he _needs her_.

She breaks away and leans against his chest _(here),_ grabs his pauldron hard, whispers, _“Hells,_ Rex, what- what _happened?”_

She is small and strong and _really here_ in his arms, smells like a forest and like _home._ “‘Soka, I-” But no, control. They still need him, the 607th, and his own battalion, and _all of them._ “A lot,” he says wearily, clings to her shoulder, feels the texture of the armor he’d given her under his fingers, somehow reassuring.

“We got Fives’ transmission,” she tells him, and that’s good anyway, although it did them no good. “We were really worried. We got here as fast as we could.”

“I’m sorry you were worried,” he says, tiredly. “I understand.”

“I love you,” she answers, tugs on his pauldron until he bends down again and lets her kiss him. He manages a bit of a smile, squeezes her shoulder, then leans back so his forehead is pressed to hers.

He is very quiet, says, “You shouldn’t yell. Krell’s battalion - they don’t like you, I think. You Jedi, I mean. You made them nervous.” Because when she’d shouted his name, _every_ kriffing trooper from the 607th had jolted. And he understands why she had, but she shouldn’t do that again.

“Well, don’t go hiding from me and I won’t,” she says, archly, and he chuckles a little.

“I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Rex,” and that’s _his General,_ oh gods, Rex twists to face him, almost grabs him for a hug except no, he can’t, “I’m _sorry,_ I should’ve- should’ve been here.”

“It’s fine, sir,” Rex says, inadequate. It’s not exactly fine, but it’s not General Skywalker’s fault either way.

He can’t _do this._ It was better when- They’re going to ask him. To tell them all of it. And he _can’t._ What he told Kenobi isn’t going to be enough for Anakin or Ahsoka, but he doesn’t want to explain.

Anakin grumbles, suddenly, and surges forward (Rex will not admit, now or ever, that he flinches), wraps both arms around Rex’s shoulders. Rex grunts, hesitates, then lets himself put an arm around Anakin and drops his head a little, hangs on.

And that hurts too much, _gods,_ nothing _burns_ anymore and his throat just aches, and it would be so much easier if he could just be _angry,_ but Ahsoka makes that hard. His General hanging onto him like it’s an apology in and of itself makes that hard.

So he eases himself loose from Anakin’s grip, pulls ‘Soka’s hand off his pauldron, and starts to say, soft, “Sir, the 607th-”

But _Brii_ interrupts him, and Rex is not going to stop Brii from talking to the General because Brii has needed Anakin, he thinks, and his _vod’ika_ is fidgeting with his belt pouch. “Sir?” Brii stops fidgeting, pulls a folded-up scrap of paper with charred edges out and pushes it at Anakin. Anakin frowns, accepts it carefully, black flecks of the burnt paper rubbing off on his fingertips. “I was drawing you this,” he stammers, pointing at the paper, and Rex balls his hands into fists at his sides and welcomes the return of the anger, so he can _focus._ “I got it done, but there was never a chance to give it to you and- and General Krell, um,” he sniffs a little, and Rex can tell he’s trying so hard to seem calm, “he ruined it. And all my pictures. ‘Cause I… said it was mine.”

Rex puts his hand on Brii’s shoulder, for a second, and Brii glances gratefully back at him.

Really fast, Ahsoka scoots forward and grabs Brii around the middle, then steps back, and Rex sees Brii’s shoulders slump a little. “Well, I just- That part was left,” he says, turns to go.

“Hang on, Brii, you haven’t even let me look at it,” Anakin says, deceptively light. There’s a dangerous bite to his voice, though, one that Rex is familiar with, one that sets him a little on edge. His General ever-so-carefully unfolds the piece of paper, looks at it for a moment, and Rex can’t really read him, but, “It’s… shavit, Brii, this is really good.”

Brii fidgets, smiles a little, and Rex knows what he’s thinking. That it should be better.

He meets Brii’s eyes, tries for a smile, reassuring, that means _we’re here._

“So… Your sketchbook,” Ahsoka says, not quite a question.

Brii shakes his head, looks down, so Rex answers. “Krell destroyed it. With his saber. I promised him a new one.” Although that fixes nothing, really.

“Make that two.” Anakin almost sounds fierce, like he’s challenging someone to argue with him.

Brii goes bright red, all over, shakes his head. “You don’t have to, I don’t need two-”

Anakin snorts. “One for missions, one for leave,” he says easily. “Makes sense to me.”

Gods.

Ahsoka leans hard into Rex’s side, one arm around his waist, and he rests a hand on her shoulder with a sigh. There is a lot he should tell them. At least… at least so that they know. So they don’t frighten the 607th. So Anakin… so Anakin won’t be so angry, because.

Never mind. It’s just for the 607th and the ones like Brii, that he needs to explain.

But not now. He can’t now, it’s too- the anger will come, but other things too, and they still all _need_ him. And he doesn’t know how to explain. Can’t. Ahsoka will- Well. He doesn’t know.

But he can’t do this, can’t _think._ So he just twists his anger and pain up tight and hot, holds onto them until they burn his hand, so at least he isn’t so _sick._

~~~

Anakin is _furious._

It’s all he can do to keep his hand loose around the little scrap of paper, because he’s afraid if he clenches his fist too tightly it’ll rip and tear, and _Force_ but he can only imagine how amazing the original drawing was, if this little snippet is so good.

Krell--how _dare he?_

Brii’s sketchbook was _not his to take._ Not his to--turn into scrap, to ruin, just because-- _hells._

Brii is turning to go again, and so Anakin tucks the little bit of paper away, takes a step forward and puts a hand on the trooper’s shoulder. He has to--put this all away, release it to the Force, _something,_ karking _hells_ (and Obi-Wan’s in the back of his mind whispering _relax, Anakin, breathe)._

And Brii needs him.

So Anakin swallows hard and says, conversationally, though his voice is loud enough he’s sure half the troopers can _hear him,_ which was _not the point,_ but he can’t quite seem to find a better volume and the butterflies in his stomach feel like they’re going to swallow him whole, but _not the point,_ he says, “Y’know, Brii, I was--born a slave.”

Literally _everyone_ in his field of vision _freezes._ Karking _damn it._

Moving on. “My favorite thing to do was--building things,” he continues, shrugs a bit, manages a half-smile at Brii. “I built myself a protocol droid that knows over six thousand languages,” which is _not the point._ Right. Focusing. “But anyway, when I was… around six or so, I was building a podracer. You ever seen podracing, Brii?” The trooper shakes his head, and Anakin grins. “I was the only Human who could do it. ‘Cause of the Force. I’m… slightly precognitive in life-or-death situations, and podracing is _definitely_ one of those.” None of this has anything to do with what he was talking about, though. He runs a hand through his hair, smiles nervously. “The _point_ is, my master, Watto, he found out about the podracer and got real mad about it, said it was a waste of parts--this was before he figured out I could win him money on the circuits--and tore it all up, sent me home with no portions for Mom and I for the week.” A shrug. That’d been a bad week, because he’d just messed up a couple weeks _before that_ and they hadn’t had _any_ emergency portions stored and his mom had--she’d never told him what exactly she did, to get portions for them so they wouldn’t starve, but… “So I… know how it feels, to lose something like that. That’s all.”

And he pulls his hand back, sheepish, winces a bit. Brii looks… _shocked,_ his eyes very wide, and um… maybe that was a bad story to tell? Oh well, too late now.

“Oh, I forgot,” he adds, trying to grin (like the thought-memory of his mom doesn’t still rip him up inside), “you can repay me for the sketchbook by designing me a tattoo.”

Brii _freezes,_ and then says, “Really, sir? You’ll actually _get one_ this time?”

“Yeah,” he says lightly. It’s a small price to pay, to make his men feel better. Even if that means he has to get a _damned_ tattoo. “Really.”

 _“Yes!”_ Brii pumps his fist, beaming, though there’s still red around his eyes and he still looks _sad,_ a bit. “Did’ja hear that, Tup?”

“Yeah, _vod’ika,_ I heard,” Tup says, coming over and shooting Anakin a grateful look. “C’mon, let’s let the General do his thing and clean up our mess.”

He shepherds Brii away, and Anakin sighs, runs a hand down his face, glances over at his Padawan and his Captain, says, “So. Um. Yeah. That’s why I hate Tatooine, Snips, and the Hutts in particular.”

~~~

He is very careful to be quiet and stay behind Cager and the 501st _vod_ they call Alpha, to watch the new Jedi only enough to know what's happening.

Looking at the Jedi is better, a bit. But also _bad, bad,_ you don't- No. No looking at the Jedi, don't bother them, he is not here, not here, he is by himself, so stay small, don't look.

He stands up very straight, curls up his fists, doesn't look. But nowhere is safe to look, everywhere is _worse, bad, not good_. Except down, or. Or. Or.

At the Jedi.

_Can't look at them can't draw their attention no noise don't look be good or you get left._

But he looks up, when General Skywalker hugs the Captain and _bad, no, why, doesn't make sense._

But Captain Rex hugs _back._ Why?

And then there's the other Jedi, the small one, and. And.

It is _better,_ when she is by Rex.

But bad, because what if they find out what Rex _did?_

Then not _better_ anymore.

He shivers and curls just one arm around his middle. Just one. They won’t know. Just one. It helps.

He doesn’t know what it means that General Skywalker was a slave. He hadn’t wanted Brii to show the General the picture, why would he do that, that’s how he lost it the _first time._ But he thinks, he thinks- it was. Not bad. Does this mean that… that the General… does he _understand?_

No, no, he’s looking down, no paying attention, do what Je’kai does, not looking at the Generals unless.

He’s not really supposed to copy Je’kai, his Captain says. Because Je’kai does- does- does all the bad things. Gets in the way, all the time. Naas won’t do that, can’t do that, isn’t supposed to.

Captain Rex has been talking very quietly to the Jedi (and it is _strange,_ the small Jedi is still… _close,_ which is _bad,_ why doesn’t Rex understand that close is _bad?)_ , but then he says louder, “We need you to corroborate the confession we heard, sirs. Since no one will listen to just us.”

Rex sounds _bitter_ (no, bad, _don’t do that),_ and wait. Does that mean…?

“I’d _love_ to question him again,” General Skywalker growls, and Naas drops his arm from around his stomach, is still and quiet. Oh no.

Oh no.

Captain Rex should- should- Why does he do so many things that are _not right?_

Although… although Naas is… glad that they came back. After… after. After their _vode._

_Worse, worse, worse, worse._

“We have him in the brig,” Rex says.

Him. _Him._

No, Rex can’t tell them that.

“Would you take us down there?” General Kenobi says - oh. General Kenobi is… on the floor? By _Je’kai?_ Is that… good? Naas doesn’t know, he doesn’t _know,_ he doesn’t know.

Wait.

Down there.

 _“Nayc._ No.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but Rex can’t. He scoots forward, past Alpha (Cager tries to grab him but _no),_ and looks straight at Rex (risk, but Rex helped, Rex was safe, so. so. so.), shaking his head. “You can’t. He- No.” He almost looks at the Jedi but _no!_ That is- _better?_ Bad, it’s bad. “Sir, please don’t, just leave him alone, _gedet’ye.”_

~~~

Je’kai had fought, _firmly,_ against letting General Kenobi do-- _anything_ with his ribs. Yes, they hurt, but--he is _fine._ Fine. Even if--Kenobi says, _one broken rib, four cracked, bruises,_ because he has had worse. Much worse.

And Naas cannot, _cannot_ do this.

Je’kai shoves himself up off the floor, ignoring Kenobi’s short, quick, “Je’kai--”

“Naas, _nayc,”_ he says, sharply, _“k’uur, vod’ika,”_ steps over and puts a careful, so careful hand on his _vod’s_ shoulder. _“Gar morut’yc, ni olar--”_ and Naas shrugs his hand away, stares at Rex like he’s sick, like he’s horrified. (Like he _feels_ things he should not.)

“Just leave him _alone,”_ Naas says, raspy, “it’s better.”

“I’ll be careful,” Captain Rex says, soft. “Promise, Naas.”

 _“I won’t let Krell kill him,”_ Je’kai adds, easy, soothes a hand light over Naas’ shoulder again, turns to face the Jedi. It’s almost unsafe to switch back to Basic, to let the Generals understand again, and he grits his teeth. (His ribs feel better, at least, but it should not be _him_ who is healed. His men need it so much more.) “I will go with you, for my battalion. He is our general, we should be present, at least.”

General Kenobi inclines his head, somehow managing to look _dignified_ even as he eases to his feet and settles his robes about him. “Indeed, Je’kai.”

“I can show you,” he rumbles out, tiredly, nods at Rex. “This way, sirs.”

~~~

Rex wants to be like Kix and shove Je’kai onto a bunk, _make_ him rest. _I won't let Krell kill him,_ Je’kai says in Mando’a, and that does not reassure Naas, and it makes Rex _burn -_ and he sees that Cody's jaw is locked tight too. Rex thinks Je’kai shouldn't have played his hand and told Rex why his name was ‘bait' - _someone has to get hurt, and that's me,_ he said. Not anymore.

Now it’s Rex’s job, to take what his men cannot. That includes Je’kai.

He drags up a real smile for Naas, then turns and finds Fives and half of Torrent Company in a small huddle, listening; he suspects they’ve wanted to approach their General, but- it’s hard, and he thinks they were also giving him time with Ahsoka.

“Fives, Jesse, you better come,” he says.

He knows they want to be there when they question the general again, because it is justice (it is reassurance that Krell is still in his cell, has not escaped, that they still _have him)_ , so Fives and Jesse and Echo and Brii step up behind Je’kai, glowering a little. Rex nods at them and they nod back; the truth of the matter at this moment is that Rex is still their commanding officer, still the one they are listening to.

He feels Ahsoka tighten her arm around him and looks down, gives her a smile that he does not mean. She looks half _furious,_ half hurting and concerned. He should explain, so much, but he doesn’t think he can. So he just sighs and nods to his Generals and Cody, leads the way from the barracks to the turbolift. Fives starts the lift down, and General Kenobi quietly asks Je’kai if he can look at his ribs again. Rex catches Cody sighing heavily, and smiles a little - he’s sure that Kenobi is going to hear from Cody or Scratch or both about this later.

Je’kai insists (foolishly) that he is _fine,_ does not need any more healing, but Anakin cuts him off and says, “You can’t take care of your men if you’re hurting this much, Captain.”

Rex is grateful his General said that; although Je’kai hesitates a moment, he at least listens. General Kenobi has a strained half-smile on his face that says he’s making a real effort not to look upset.

Cody shifts next to Rex, tight, then asks, so, so soft and cold, “What’s wrong with them?”

“Krell,” Rex answers, low and matter-of-fact, keeping himself upright and stern, where no one can see how he burns. Too much, still. “He took their names, Cody. He-” But he can’t explain that in front of Ahsoka, somehow. She… She can’t know. She wouldn’t understand how or why Rex had let Krell do so much to and take so much from him and his _vode._

Leaving the wounded. Taking their names. Threatening Fives. _Hardcase._ Brii’s sketchbook. The order to execute Fives and Jesse. Naas’ panic. Je’kai’s stories and scar. Their marching orders. The 607th’s terror and silence. Making them _kill their brothers._

_Krell._

The lift descends into the brig, lights going dimmer and colder, and Rex goes still tenser, runs his hand over Ahsoka’s shoulder once. Truthfully, the anger is back, a relief but _dangerous,_ and if he did not need her so much he would pull away from her.

Instead, he steps up to the front of the lift, ahead of his Generals, keeping Ahsoka tucked against his side, as Fives halts them in front of Krell and Dogma’s cells.

Rex does not explain to any of them why Dogma is locked up too, just twists and gives his squad a sharp look. They know his orders: do not provoke Krell, and _stay calm._ He is not giving Krell a chance to get under their skin - he has said and done enough to Rex’s brothers. Rex is worried about Je’kai; the other Captain looks wound tight and shaking, especially now that General Kenobi’s stepped away from him again.

“Ah, Captain Rex,” Krell hums - he’s seated crosslegged with his back to them. “And your _General,_ too. What have you told him about your little mutiny?” So smooth and _unconcerned,_ that voice. Rex grits his teeth, does not answer. He is going to ask the questions, anything else Krell says is _not pertinent._

Anakin crosses his arms, scowling. “I trust Rex to follow the course of action I’d take in any situation,” he says.

Krell laughs, low, and smooth and fast turns around, stands (do not move, don’t flinch, _stand),_ leans forward a little, folding his hands behind his back. “Like a proper clone,” he chuckles. “In that respect, at least. I’m afraid he’s also picked up some of your more… _independent_ tendencies.”

Anakin _visibly_ clenches his jaw - and most of his other muscles too, for that matter. It’s almost comical _how_ tense he is. Anakin is not subtle. “How _exactly_ are you associated with Darth Sidious?” he snarls.

Krell laughs again. “He took an interest in me. Perhaps I showed promise, perhaps I was simply _useful.”_ He hisses the last word, meets Rex’s eyes. Rex does not look away from him. “Either way, that is none of your concern.”

“You will answer the General’s question,” Rex growls, just stops himself from taking a half-step forward. They need a confession to the Generals because no one but his Generals will take their word over Krell’s; why would anyone? What was more credible, the assertion of two battalions of soldiers that a _Jedi General_ with a clean track record had suddenly compromised an entire battle, or the word of a Jedi Master that his troops had turned on him, were traitors? To anyone who did not know them, it would be clear who the liars were.

Krell smiles, leans back, and gestures casually with two hands. “The _general._ Now you remember what loyalty is. Do you think that means he won’t ask you too many questions about your insubordination? About, which one was it, CT-6116?”

_Shit. Shit, no._

The general refocuses on Anakin, and in a tone that sounds as if he’s just sharing the weather, or the time, says, “You should know that one of your clones has had a bit of a… _malfunction._ It used the Force against me.” _Shit._ It isn’t that- Rex has to remember they can trust Anakin with that, but- Well. They weren’t supposed to _know._ “You will have to see about replacing that one.” Krell sweeps a scathing glare over Rex and his squad and Je’kai. “Most likely the rest of them, too.”

Rex doesn’t want to look away from Krell, but he does, glances at his men (who have gone _still,_ closed off), and Je’kai, who Rex thinks is seconds away from _running._ They don’t _talk_ about… about the _vode_ that the longnecks terminate for having the Force; the Jedi were supposed to know, already, or even if they didn’t, it was too great a risk. The Force is _not allowed_ them.

“I would sooner recondition myself than any of my men,” Anakin says, biting, his lip curling in a sneer.

“I did not say _reconditioning,”_ Krell hums.

“Enough,” Kenobi snaps, and Rex glances at him, sees a tightness to Kenobi’s shoulders and jaw that he doesn’t recognize. “I will ask you again, Pong Krell, what is your association with the Sith Master?”

Krell just laughs again, heartily, leans forward so his face nearly touches the wall of the cell, and Rex knows the general can’t reach him but he’s still too close. “He wanted your battalion destroyed, Skywalker. Your captain was very helpful; his loyalty was… refreshing, although I’m afraid it did not last.”

Anakin strides forward two long, fast steps, hand twisting into a claw, outstretched, and Kenobi grabs his shoulder, says, “Anakin, _wait.”_ Rex _feels_ that word, a pressure behind his eyes and a wash of unnatural calm that he’s fairly sure is Kenobi trying to get Anakin to _calm down._

They _need_ a real confession, but Krell has not directly admitted to anything.

Krell is choking but Krell is still wheezing a laugh.

Rex clenches his hands into fists, and Ahsoka eases out from under his arm, puts her hand on one of his fists until he relaxes a little.

“Fine,” Anakin grinds out, then deliberately, stubbornly, uncurls his fingers one at a time and drops his hand back to his side.

Ahsoka leaves her hand on Rex’s, shifts to look at Kenobi. (Rex cannot look at either him or Anakin.) “Clones can be sensitives?”

Kenobi rubs his beard. “In theory, any sentient being can be - but we’ve had no reports of clones showing Force sensitivity.”

Brii (no, he needed them to _keep their mouths shut)_ says, “That’s because they terminate them. One of my batchmates was.” He quickly slaps his hand over his mouth, but Krell’s eyes have already shifted from Ahsoka and Kenobi over to him, and Rex swears silently. “They said the Jedi would call us traitors?” he tries.

Kenobi… Kenobi looks _angry._

“And oddly enough, that is what you are,” Krell says smoothly, and Rex is _sick_ of the games.

“The only traitor here is you,” Rex says, low, harsh. “You killed my brothers.”

“No,” Krell muses, “I believe that was _you,_ Captain.”

Rex swallows, and Krell’s gaze goes sharper, hungrier. Damn it. Rex wants to look at Cody or Ahsoka for reassurance but if he looks away from Krell now, then that makes him _weak,_ and they’ve already given Krell enough opportunities to pick at them.

 _Je’kai_ speaks, suddenly, voice shaking, and Rex twists to look at him, almost snaps at him to be quiet, but it’s too late anyway. “But you have killed them, or you left them behind, and it’s the same thing - you almost killed _me.”_ He reaches up, almost absentmindedly, touches his scar and swallows, _hard,_ and Rex needs him and his _vode_ not to do this, not to draw Krell’s attention to themselves. “How many wounded did you make us leave?”

Ahsoka makes a small, pained noise, her hand curling very tight around Rex’s, and he shifts his fingers so he can thread them between hers, careful.

Krell shrugs. He doesn’t care, and he has all the time in the world where they do not. “There is no use in carting around dead weight. If you break I have no use for you,” and he glances at _Echo._

Ahsoka stiffens, and Rex looks at her, sees her muscles tense, her free hand straying towards her saber, and he quickly reaches out and catches it. Shakes his head minutely, when she looks up at him (gods he’s missed her eyes), because they can’t kill him until they get a confession.

She looks away from him to glare at Krell, curling her lip in a _snarl_ so Rex can see her fangs (which still makes him nervous a little, because _fangs)._ “The only broken one here is you, you _mir’osik,”_ she hisses, and Rex doesn’t mean to but he snorts. And hangs on tighter to her hands as she takes a step towards Krell _(shitbrain_ is definitely an appropriate descriptor).

Krell just leans back, silent, and _smiles._

Anakin is the _cold_ kind of angry now, like a lightsaber before it ignites, barely contained but contained nonetheless. “Was it your intent to betray the Republic or the Jedi Order?”

Krell tilts his head a little. “Perhaps it was. You are a slave to a broken system, Skywalker, one that is doomed to fall. I have no wish to fall with it.”

Finally. Rex sighs, very carefully, relaxes just a breath. The beginnings of a confession, of _evidence._

“So you admit you had dealings with Darth Sidious in order to betray the Republic?” General Kenobi says.

“I did.” Krell sits down, crosslegged again.

_That is all._

_Dismissed._

They have their confession, but it still feels like Krell has _won._

“Why did you take our names?” That’s Je’kai again, still sounding small, and that is a bad question to ask. They should have left, Rex thinks, as soon as they had the confession.

Krell’s small, yellow eyes widen, as if in surprise. “Did you expect me to care what you called yourselves, CT-3181?” He _can’t do that,_ Rex is sick of it. “I thought I made it very clear to you that you are not entitled to anything.”

Rex steps sideways so he’s blocking Krell’s line of sight to Je’kai, because Krell has done _enough_ to Je’kai and the 607th and all of them. “And you do not have the right to take their names from them.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Krell looks amused. “And what use do you have for names, CT-7567?” _No._ He is _Rex,_ that is _his,_ and Krell can’t _have that._ “You were created in a laboratory and you will die just the same with or without names. Isn’t that right, CT-3181?”

~~~

Cody is ice.

He locks the anger down, the rage that burns and freezes, curls it into a pinpoint and tucks it _away,_ where it cannot make him snarl, cannot make him lunge like General Skywalker and Commander Tano both have, cannot make him commit _treason,_ because Krell may be a criminal but he is still, as of this moment, a Jedi Master, and clones _do not_ turn on their Jedi. Ever. Do not turn on _any_ Jedi, even the younglings, because that is--it is not right, not _allowed._

So.

Ice.

“Yes, sir,” the Captain, Je’kai, says, so so quiet and rasping, and Cody _cannot look,_ cannot let himself look, grits his teeth and tightens his fingers into fists. Ice. He is ice.

“Very good,” Krell says, so easy, and he’s not laughing now, just smooth and soft, and Cody _cannot listen._ “Perhaps you have forgotten just what you are.” His voice is _danger,_ and every nerve _screams_ for action, for motion, but _ice,_ he is _ice._

“No, sir,” Je’kai says, fast, and Cody does not mean to but he looks, and--and _gods,_ his _vod’ika_ is so, so small and frightened (he is a Captain, his armor is battered and he wears his _kama_ and his blasters with the ease of long familiarity, he should not be so _afraid)._

“Then you should have no trouble _reminding_ us all,” and Cody _cannot, cannot, cannot._

(Ice, he is ice, he _must be,_ lock it all down tight, into stone, into _nothing,_ he is not here, this is not happening, do not listen, do not think, do not _feel.)_

Je’kai grits his teeth, like he’s fighting, and then he _slumps_ like all the air has just been drained out of him in a rush, and _gods gods gods,_ he closes his eyes and chokes out, “CT-3181, sir. Expendable.”

_No._

None of them are _expendable._ No _vod_ can _ever_ be replaced, _ever,_ and Cody locks his hand around his blaster and holds _tight, tight, tight_ until it _burns,_ because that is _wrong._ Wrong, wrong, **_wrong!_ **

“Exactly right,” Krell _purrs,_ smiles, and _gods_ Cody is _sick._ That is the _opposite_ of right, that is so _not-right_ it _bleeds,_ and he breathes sharp and short and shallow and he _cannot lock it away._ Krell keeps talking, conversational, smooth, low, “See? _That_ one understands _true_ loyalty,” and no more.

No. More.

Because this is not _loyalty,_ it is _slavery,_ it is _everything wrong_ with the way the clones are treated by outsiders, and that should _not_ be the way the Jedi act. Krell is _no Jedi._ Krell is a traitor and Krell has killed _brothers_ and Cody does not care what his General thinks, Krell needs to _die._

Now.

Before he does any more damage to the ones Cody _loves._

 _“Enough,”_ he growls, ice ice ice, but this is ice that _burns,_ ice that shatters into sharp shards and slices into pieces, this is the ice that _bleeds_ and _bruises_ and _cuts._ He looks to his _ori’vod_ first, but Rex is sick, sick, Commander Tano holding him tight, and there is nothing Rex can do.

So.

The ray-shields have to go down before Cody can act, so.

The ARC trooper, Fives, is near the switch; so is the small _vod’ika,_ Brii, the artist, and it is not Fives whose eyes smolder with hatred but _Brii,_ and so Cody locks gazes with the younger _vod_ and nods, once.

Brii nods back, a silent salute, an encouragement, and reaches up deadly-certain and hits the switch.

“You _dare_ command _me,_ clone?” Krell says.

Cody straightens his shoulders back (he is the ice that bleeds and cuts and kills) and meets the _dar’jetii’s_ eyes and says, so so simple, “Yes.”

And in a single fluid motion he lifts his blaster, aims, and fires.

~~~

Obi-Wan thinks perhaps he should feel something other than satisfaction when Krell’s body hits the floor of the cell, but he does not. Anakin finally stops straining against his arm (Obi doesn’t think he was even aware he was fighting, anymore), settles some, and Obi lets go of him with a heavy sigh, realizes he had almost been holding his breath.

The Force is so heavy.

Cody slings his blaster onto his back again, settles into parade rest and glances over at Obi-Wan, and Obi finds he has nothing to say about it.

Whether it is right or not, he thinks that this had nothing to do with him or Anakin or Ahsoka, and for a moment he is very aware that although they have fought with their troops for years, there is much that they don’t (perhaps can’t?) understand about them.

So he decides to let it go and deal with the fallout later, if there is any; Cody does not look like he wants to talk to him, but the Captain, Je’kai, has sunk to one knee where he stood, has his hand pressed to his forehead, and Obi-Wan understands enough to know that Je’kai needs _something._ He can feel so _much_ from the trooper, although he cannot exactly name any of it. So he soothes Anakin one more time, touches his shoulder, and pads over to crouch in front of Je’kai, tentative.

He does not think it would be wise to touch Je’kai just now; the Force is humming with a tense kind of weariness and Obi does not understand _enough_ to properly respond. So he is quiet, for a moment, sinks into the Force to listen (notes Cody going over to Rex and Anakin coming closer to him and Je’kai).

The Captain notices him, soon enough, and then he shifts, heavily, gets his feet under him and starts pushing himself up with a rough, “Sorry, sir,” and Obi shakes his head, reaches for his shoulder to stop him only Je’kai flinches _hard_ and the Force crackles warning.

“Je’kai,” he says, warning but as calm as he can make it (reaches into the Force for Light and peace, eases both into the space around them because he can still feel sickness and horror from the clones and- and he should not pay so much attention to that), and the Captain goes still. Obi-Wan does not know what to tell him, what will help. He is not one of them, no one has ever claimed to own him, and he has no idea what it must be like to be told you cannot even have a name. “Take a moment to rest, Captain, you need it.”

“I can still complete the mission, sir,” Je’kai informs him, gets the rest of the way to his feet, and Obi _aches_ (and burns).

He stands too, shaking his head. “There is very little left to do, and Anakin and I will worry about what there is to manage. _All_ of you need to rest.” The desperate kind of relief on the other troopers’ faces hurts to see. It is not much easier seeing the blank expressions on Rex and Cody’s faces that amount to the same thing.

“Sir?” Je’kai fumbles, confused.

Obi sighs, heavily, looks at Krell’s body again. They will not have a funeral for Krell. He is not going to perform one and he is not going to bring the body back, Jedi Master or not. Fives and Anakin have let the other non-Umbaran prisoner out of his cell, and Fives has him by the arm - it is a trooper that Obi-Wan is not familiar with. His eyes are glazed.

Rex’s brief explanation does not _begin_ to cover what has happened here.

“You and your battalion have to rest,” Obi says firmly, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “It will be some time yet before we are ready to leave. I expect you all to make sure you let the medics look at you-” he shoots Fives a pointed look, the ARC trooper has been limping, “and then at least sit down. Sleep if you have the time.”

None of them look as if they’ve slept at all - if they have, it’s done them no good.

Obi needs to meditate.

He can’t ask any of them for a real debriefing right now, he’s aware, and he doesn’t think… doesn’t think he could be balanced, if he heard all the details now.

Later. When the answer won’t make him so unsteady.

“Anakin, the comm systems are still down and we will need to contact the Council,” he says, wearily.

“Right.” Obi thinks he will also have to talk to Anakin - he can still feel fury radiating across the training bond, although it is duller. “Take us back up, would you, Fives?”

~~~

Ahsoka is _sick._

Her anger at Krell had--not vanished, but taken the back seat to a choking _worry_ the moment Rex had started to sway on his feet; she’d wrapped her arms around him and held him close and just _waited_ for it all to be over.

When Cody had pulled the trigger, she’d felt nothing more than deep, deep _relief._

She’s not sure what _happened_ to her Rex, but he feels so _ashamed,_ almost, sick and exhausted, and she doesn’t really know what to do but--

But being _close_ might help, she thinks.

Maybe, if she’s close enough, she can help remedy the fact that she _wasn’t here, wasn’t here, wasn’t here._

After Fives takes Obi-Wan and Anakin up to the command center, to work on fixing the comms, Ahsoka goes down with Rex and the other troopers to the ground level. Obi-Wan had basically _ordered_ the troops to get medical attention and sleep, and she _thinks_ Rex is unhurt, mostly. At least, he feels more _tired_ than in _pain,_ in the ambient Force.

So she tugs him to the barracks, doesn’t speak (because what is there to say?), ignores the way everyone _looks_ at her, nods at Brii. “Where’s his bunk?”

Brii points out one of the bunks and she tightens her arm around his shoulders, leads him over (and he’s so, so tired, so--nonresponsive, and it’s almost _terrifying)_ to that bunk and pushes him to sit down. Says, “Hold still,” and starts pulling off the pieces of his upper body armor, his gun belt and kama (everything except for Cody’s bracer; she thinks he’ll want the comfort, right now), even though he tenses some, piles it neatly beside the bunk. Takes off his boots, too, because they _hurt_ if he pokes her with them, and then neatly undoes the black armor around her shoulders and sets it down as well. “Lay down, Rexter.”

“I should--my _vode--”_ he tries, and she shakes her head, puts a finger to his lips and toes off her own boots.

“Cody has them,” she says, quiet. “You gotta rest, Rex. It’s like Anakin told Je’kai.”

He doesn’t really say anything to that, so she pushes his shoulders lightly until he gives in and lays down on the bunk, just _watching her,_ so quiet and aching, and _Force,_ her throat hurts. She crosses to the other side of the bunk and lays down next to him, on her side, reaches out and tugs his head to lean against her shoulder, threads the fingers of one hand into his hair and splays her other hand out across the space in between his shoulder blades, settles it for a moment before starting to work at the knots of tension in his muscles. “I’ve got you, I’m here now,” she whispers, quiet, choking. “I’m sorry, but I’m here now, I’m here, you’re okay. They’re okay and nobody can hurt them anymore.”

She should have been here.

She wasn’t.

_Kriff._

~~~

It's better with her here, afterwards. He wishes she hadn't seen Krell, seen him, but it's still better because she's his, he… he's _missed her._ Or he would have, if he'd let himself.

As it is, it all hits him at once, now, with her fingers massaging steady and familiar on his back, and he has to choke down _tears_ and an ache in his chest and it's too much, the names and the taunting and all of it. He can't deal with this right now, can't feel this, because if he does he'll crack in half like icy glass.

“I killed brothers,” he tells her, slow and tired.

“I'm so sorry,” she says softly, shifting even closer to him. “It's okay, I'm here. You can let it go now. I love you.”

Rex cannot. But he manages to reach up, settle a hand on her montrals, run his thumb back and forth, light. He should do like Kenobi said and sleep, but he knows that when he does, they will all be there, all the ones he didn't save, all the ones he _killed_ (he already sees them when he closes his eyes, flashing on the insides of his eyelids). So he doesn't want to sleep. He can't. And part of him cannot believe Krell is dead (although _gods,_ what a relief, seeing that look in Cody’s eyes and then seeing the general slump to the floor, dead), so he has to stay awake, make sure he can protect his _vode._

“It was _my name,”_ he says, suddenly, stilling his thumb on her montral. “It was _mine_ and he took it.” And he couldn't stop Krell from taking it, and it had twisted him apart every single time. And Je’kai- Too much to think about, there. “I'm- I'm a _person,_ ‘Soka, he can't have my name. Any of our names. That was _mine.”_

“My Rex,” she says, and that's better. A little. His name out of her mouth sounds safer. She kisses the top of his head, light. “He can't take anything from you anymore.”

And that's true, but… Rex just did too little too late. “But he already did,” he says heavily. And Rex let him. And he fought, finally, because he'd be _damned_ if he let this go on. And it was good, he knows that. But not enough.

“I'm so sorry,” she says softly, hurting. He holds tighter (maybe too tight?) to her montrals, leans his forehead into the curve of her neck. “Rex, you need to sleep.”

He _can't._ “I don't- The men need me, I need to be able to-”

“Rex.” She combs her fingers through his hair, gentle. “I told you, Cody has them. You _need sleep.”_

He does. But he doesn't _want_ sleep. “I can't, I-”

 _“Go to_ ** _sleep,_** Rex.”

Vaguely, he realizes she's _cheated,_ stupid kriffing _Force,_ but whether or not it's cheating, sleep still comes like an old friend and he's forced to accept it, let it take him.  Nightmares or no.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws confetti* Have more sad kids! (And cuteness also though.)
> 
> Lots of just... internalized insecurity and fear and worthlessness bullshit and sadness as a result of abuse, please be careful.
> 
> (We may or may not also be planning a Rexsoka Hunger Games AU, stay tuned.)

Je’kai knows that he  _ should _ take time to rest; he’s exhausted, it’s true. They’ve been pushing hard for a full standard day, by this point, and he hasn’t taken a stim--his wounded needed them more. Never mind that he is technically one of the wounded.

Yes, his ribs ache still; whatever General Kenobi had done (some sort of Force thing, a power General Krell had never mentioned before) has  _ helped, _ but he knows he pulled away before much could really be accomplished. But he is going to be  _ fine, _ he has born worse pain than this for far longer, before (like the whole campaign on Hoth, with a lightsaber burn searing agony on his cheek--that whole campaign had been  _ hell, _ freezing and bloody and  _ aching, _ half-blind and his face screaming and everything else just so cold it was numb, nothing, barely able to feel the trigger on his blasters or even hear the general’s orders above the wind, and his in-helmet comms had been down, his helmet mostly-ruined, and  _ gods _ he hates Hoth).

So he will be fine.

He walks among his  _ vode, _ studiously avoiding looking at the bunk where Rex has apparently fallen asleep, half-curled around one of his Jedi--the Commander, the younger Togrutan, Tano he thinks--the one he’d  _ kissed, _ earlier.  _ That _ does not make sense, and if he thinks too much about a  _ Jedi _ in the barracks, no matter how--close she and the Captain seem to be, then he does not think he can stay here. So he cannot think.

He paces. Not exactly  _ pacing, _ just--making the rounds, soothing his brothers, helping Beten give out painkillers and a few precious bacta patches for the worst-injured. Keeping moving, so he doesn’t have to think, to realize that--the general is  _ dead. _ Commander Cody had killed him. Shot him between the eyes.

That is  _ dangerous. _

You do not kill Jedi.

(Except in the nightmares, the ones that no longer come, since the surgeries, and that had been a relief, except--Je’kai would have almost  _ welcomed _ the chips, the orders they gave, the fact that he could not fight them, that he could stand against his general and not cringe away in fear.)

What will they do to Cody?

What will they do to  _ him? _

He, Clone Captain CT-3181, Je’kai, he has stood against a Jedi General and disobeyed orders and--and he is  _ defective, _ only malfunctioning clones would dare disobey their Jedi, and it does not matter that the 501st’s Captain did the same, the 501st has Skywalker and Kenobi.  _ His men _ have no one. Well, they had Krell, but their general would have  _ gleefully _ sent them all off to die.

His men have no one, except himself.

But he can protect them, still. Can  _ explain, _ that he is the one at fault, his men should not be disciplined for following his orders (orders he did not give), that he will take the punishment, strip him of his rank, his number, give him a new one--

Take him away from his men.

_ Gods. _

There has to be a better way.

He notes, almost dispassionately, that his hands are shaking; he thinks perhaps he should leave the rest of the medical assistance to Beten, who at least has steady hands. He himself is in no shape for this.

And that burns, that is a failing. He should--not struggle. Not now. Not when they  _ need him. _

But he cannot  _ sit, _ or everything will tear him down into pieces and rip him up and claw him apart, and he needs to stay unbroken, to stay firm and steady, to be  _ protection _ for his men, because if not him, who will? He is all they have.

So he cannot be reconditioned, and he cannot die for them, though he would.

They need him too  _ much. _

~~~

Cody watches his men getting settled into the barracks, mingling with the 501st, some offering small tokens or rations, a small version of the tradition: gifts after the hard things. Cody thinks this is a tradition they will have to spend extra time on with the 607th, Krell’s battalion.

Rex is sleeping, with Ahsoka. That is good. Cody is grateful Rex has her, he supposes, and at the moment, if Rex gets in trouble for something, it  _ certainly  _ won’t be about that. Hells, Cody can hardly scold - he’s just killed a Jedi Master and general.

He doesn’t want to think about that very much. He does not regret it, does not think he ever will, but it was a risk. His General will protect him, he’s sure, but the fact remains that he’s done something they are never meant to do (or at least, not meant to do without the influence of the karking chips they got removed from their heads), and what if Kenobi can't? What if the GAR gets wind of this, what if they decide that Krell being a traitor wasn't sufficient justification for Cody to shoot him, what if he gets  _ reconditioned  _ and he isn't here for Rex or his battalion or General-

Enough of that.

Cody shifts, looks up, and sees Je’kai pacing between bunks rather aimlessly, he thinks; Je’kai had been helping the 607th’s medic, so Cody had let him be, but now he's just wandering.

And he's still injured. Why he's being so reticent about getting treatment, Cody isn't totally sure, but his bet would be that it's Krell’s fault.

So he sighs and strides over to the Captain, who turns as he approaches and pulls together something resembling a salute at attention. For kriff’s sake. Cody salutes back, and when it appears that Je’kai is going to  _ stay _ at attention, sighs, “At ease,” feeling heavy.

It's no wonder Rex looks like he's had the weight of this whole planet on his shoulders since Cody arrived. Kriff this.

“My General said you should get medical attention and rest,” he says. “Have you taken time for either of those things?”

“I'm fine, sir,” Je’kai says, and Cody wants to tell him to cut the shit, because everyone here  _ knows _ it's banthashit.

“Your ribs are hurt, you need them looked at. I'm going to have my medic look at you. Sit down.”

“Beten’s handled the worst ones. We'll be fine till we get into hyperspace.”

Cody snorts, involuntarily, because he's sick of the excuses. From Je’kai, from his General, from Rex.  _ “Sit down,  _ Je’kai, and let Scratch look at you.” When that doesn't appear to be working, he softens his voice a little, points at the nearest empty bunk. “That's an order, Captain Je’kai.”

~~~

Je’kai winces, but  _ that’s an order, _ so… even if it  _ is _ one of the oddest orders he’s ever heard in his life. “Yes, sir,” he says tiredly, rubs a hand across his eyes and shuffles over to sit down on the indicated bunk, though he really doesn’t  _ want to. _

“Scratch,” Commander Cody says mildly, waves over a trooper in orange-painted armor with a red medic’s insignia on one shoulder. “Take a look at Captain Je’kai’s ribs, and don’t let him get up until you’re satisfied.”

“As if I would,” the medic, Scratch apparently, growls out, and then he sighs and says, “Alright, armor off.”

Je’kai stills, swallows hard, shakes his head. “No, I don’t--”

“That wasn’t a request, Captain,” Scratch snaps. “Take it off so I can look, or I’ll do it for you.”

Je’kai swears silently, clenches his hands into fists, and then says, carefully, “I--”

Scratch shakes his head, steps forward, and puts a hand on his pauldron, as though to remove it--and Je’kai can’t help it, he  _ flinches, _ hard,  _ haar’chak, _ but touch means  _ pain _ and it’s not  _ safe, _ they aren’t  _ allowed, _ they--no. Enough. Stop. “Fine,” he rasps, “just let me do it myself.”

Scratch nods, steps back, and Je’kai works at the pieces of his upper body armor, his bracers and pauldrons and cuirass, and as he pulls the pieces off (tries to keep his hands from shaking), he notes Naas coming over; his  _ vod’ika _ doesn’t look at anyone, just settles down onto the bunk and wraps his arms around his stomach, a little, curls forward just a bit.

His presence is  _ comforting, _ somehow, and it’s enough to let Je’kai undo his gun belt and  _ kama, _ set them to the side, though he pulls one of his blasters from his holsters and settles it on his lap, his hand tight around it. The familiar weight is a reassurance, lets him hold  _ mostly _ still as Scratch lightly feels at his ribs, slow and telegraphed.

_ Gods. _ He doesn’t  _ like this, _ it’s not--safe, it’s-- _ ah, gods, _ that  _ hurt, _ the  _ kriff-- _

“Yeah, felt that, did you?” Scratch mutters under his breath, irritated. “That’s a broken rib. How long ago were you injured?”

Je’kai shrugs, tightens his fingers around his blaster. “Before General Krell took over the 501st,” he says, lowly. Tries not to swear when Scratch finds another sore spot.

“And what exactly have you done since then, and did you get  _ any treatment?” _

Je’kai winces.  _ Hells, _ this medic is  _ way _ more pushy than Beten has ever been,  _ gods. _ “Um,” he says,  _ very eloquent, Je’kai, _ “we marched at speed for… a bit over twelve hours, attacked the capital--unsuccessfully--were redirected to this airbase, captured it, and then… it’s probably been about twelve more hours since we took the airbase.”

He thinks Scratch looks _horrified._ “The _hells,_ _vod?”_ the medic says. “Tell me you don’t mean _twelve hours straight.”_

Je’kai raises an eyebrow, shifts uncomfortably, tightens his fingers again--and Naas reaches over (looking down at the floor), curls his own fingers around Je’kai’s, forcing him to relax his grip on his blaster. Gods. (But it does feel--easier, his fingers were starting to cramp.) “We’ve gone longer, on campaigns?” he hazards, carefully. “Use stims if we need to.” He takes a deep breath (as deep as he can without it hurting too much), shakes his head. “It was either that or get left behind, so…” and he shrugs, meaningful.

~~~

_ “Haar’chak.”  _ Scratch shakes his head and glances over at Cody - the Commander doesn’t look surprised, somehow, just frustrated. Scratch has heard precious little except for rumors and what snippets of information he could drag out of Kix and infer from the injuries he was treating, and he’s getting real tired of it. “Do you mean to tell me,” he says, slowly, putting the pieces together, and trying  _ very  _ hard not raise his voice (it doesn’t quite work, damnit), “that you haven’t had a proper rest for twenty-four hours?”

Je’kai’s eyes dart side to side a bit, like he’s looking for someone to tell him the right answer, then he shrugs a little and says, “Yeah - it was a mission.”

“For  _ kriff’s sake!” _ Scratch glances around the barracks, reconsiders Kix’s apparent exhaustion. Kix should know better, gods. Je’kai’s got to be kidding, there’s no way they hadn’t been allowed to make camp - but then, from everything he’s been hearing (again, not kriffing much), that’s not so shocking.

Cody gives him just the tiniest hint of a wry smile, when Scratch looks at him. This most definitely isn’t  _ amusing. _ “What about the rest of the battalion? The 501st?” He knows the answer, but when Je’kai shrugs again, shakes his head, Scratch throws his hands up and paces a short distance away, then back, determinedly. “Kark it. You are not allowed  _ off this bunk _ until we’re ready to leave this karking planet. And I  _ mean that.” _ He shoots a look at Cody for support, and Cody nods sagely in agreement.

“Whatever you say, Scratch.”

“Oh  _ now  _ you say that, karking  _ hells,” _ Scratch grumbles. Like it’s  _ ever _ whatever he says with General Kenobi and Commander Cody. Two damnedest stubborn  _ di’kute _ in the battalion - probably the whole kriffing army.

“I know my own limits, and you do not,” Je’kai informs him, tightly, and Scratch can’t help a disbelieving laugh, because this Captain has  _ not _ met Scratch, Scratch deals with this  _ banthashit _ all the time. Maybe he can make better excuses than General Kenobi, let’s see. “You should give orders to the men you  _ know _ and let me take care of my  _ vode.” _

No excuses at all, interesting tactic. Scratch smiles fiercely, crosses his arms. He  _ thinks _ he hears Cody snort, he better not have. “I am a  _ medic.  _ You are my  _ vod. _ I know your  _ limits  _ just fine, Captain, and if you don’t  _ stay put _ I’m karking  _ sedating  _ you.”

Je’kai crosses his arms (pulling his hand and blaster away from the  _ vod’ika _ who was holding onto him), and glares at Scratch, and he probably thinks he’s really intimidating with that scar, but he can think again. “I have gone several days without sleep on a campaign on Hoth without cold-weather gear, with a fresh, untreated lightsaber burn on my  _ face. _ That is my limit. This is nothing.”

Scratch does not let himself think about that much. He will later, he’s sure (as it is he feels momentarily sick, but that’s not important), but he’s not letting Je’kai shock him into letting the issue drop. “This may not be your  _ limit, _ but it’s not nothing. I am not leaving this untreated just because you say you’re tough enough to take it.” He shoots a pointed glare at Cody. “So do I have to sedate you, Captain, or are you going to show some sense and  _ listen to me?” _

Because he _will_ sedate this _damn_ _di’kut_ if he has to.

The Captain shakes his head slowly, sighs, “They need me.”

If Scratch didn’t know better he’d say this was a cruel trick from the universe - he does not need another self-denying officer to treat, thank you very much, universe. He takes a deep breath, calms himself a little and uncrosses his arms. “And you will be no use to them without rest and treatment. And if you’re  _ sedated,”  _ he adds, lets just a little bite back into his voice, “then you’ll  _ definitely  _ be no use to them. And I will sedate you, that’s not me blowing smoke. Ask our friend Commander Cody.”

Cody grumbles, a little, but “Yeah, he’d do it,  _ vod’ika.” _

“Thank you very much.” Scratch shrugs, holds out a hand palm up. “So, which option, Captain Je’kai? You only get those two.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” Je’kai grits, and the  _ vod’ika  _ behind him hunches over a little. Maybe Scratch should look at him too. “But if you expect me to sleep until we’re offworld, you’re more a fool than I thought. Sleeping on a mission may not warrant reconditioning now that the general is dead, but it’s a hard habit to break.” He sighs, as if that’s an inconvenience, and Scratch… Scratch does not know what to say. He fumbles, for a second, because reconditioning for  _ resting? _ And Krell is dead now? He can’t karking keep up. Partly he doesn’t  _ want to,  _ hells.

“The General’s…  _ dead?” _ That’s the  _ vod’ika, _ quavering, quiet, his voice somehow not quite normal.

“Yeah, Naas,” Je’kai says softly, turning to set a light hand on the  _ vod’s _ shoulder (and he’s apparently called  _ Naas, _ nothing, which is… an odd choice of names, stranger than  _ bait).  _ “Commander Cody killed him.”

“The  _ kriff,  _ Commander, you’d think you could  _ mention  _ that,” Scratch says, because  _ Cody _ killed a  _ Jedi? _ More details had  _ better  _ be forthcoming.

Naas makes a small noise. “He-” and Scratch does not like the pitch of that one word, turns away from Cody (who’s rolling his eyes) to look at Naas, who’s staring at the Commander, completely horrified.

Well, wonderful.

“Why would you  _ do that?” _ Naas says, voice cracking and hoarse, and Je’kai eases an arm around the  _ vod’ika,  _ but he shakes his head very hard. “You’re going to-”

“Hey,  _ vod’ika, _ take it easy,” Scratch says, glances at Cody because somebody’s gotta tell the kid Cody’s gonna be fine.

Probably.

Scratch needs  _ information,  _ damnit Cody, would somebody please  _ explain? _

Little gods, he doesn’t know why he bothers with any of them.

~~~

Je’kai really  _ is _ exhausted, and if he’s going to be forced to rest, he might as well  _ try _ to sleep, but--Naas needs him, his  _ vod’ika, _ and he needs to reassure Naas that everything will be alright.

Even if that is a lie.

_ “The Commander is safe, little brother,” _ he says, light and soft, tugging Naas closer, even though that is--not good, not safe, because his  _ vod’ika _ needs him.  _ “General Kenobi and General Skywalker both were there, and so was Captain Rex. We are safe now, too.” _

_ “No, no, we’re not,” _ Naas says, hurriedly,  _ “he’s not, they’re going to--why do they do that?” _

_ “Because they don’t have the rules,” _ Je’kai answers, even though that’s not entirely the right answer.  _ “They don’t need the rules. Trust me, little brother, yeah?” _

_ “Trust you,” _ Naas agrees, leaning into him a little.  _ “But why’d he do it?” _

“Because you aren’t  _ expendable, vod’ika,” _ Cody says. “Because you have a right to your names. Because--” and he sighs wryly, “--I was done letting Krell treat my  _ vode _ like banthashit.” He shrugs.

It’s a good answer. Better than the answer Je’kai would have given. But he thinks--he doesn’t know. Nothing really makes  _ sense, _ anymore. Generals standing behind their men; medics who are, apparently,  _ freaked _ by the idea of not being allowed rest on a mission; some strange Jedi Force power that heals injuries--used on  _ clones. _

Je’kai isn’t sure if he’s dead or dreaming. Because none of this--none of it could be  _ real. _ How could a Jedi just--do that? For a clone? For something that is, no matter what  _ Marshal Commander _ Cody says,  _ expendable. _ Less than Human. 

Cody says they have a  _ right _ to names, but that--it doesn’t totally make  _ sense. _ They don’t  _ have _ rights, they are--not truly  _ sentients. _ The general had said that enough times, in the past.

Gods.

But if this is a dream, Je’kai decides, he doesn’t want to wake up.

~~~

Naas does not understand.

At all, at all.

Je’kai says you  _ don’t challenge the General. _ Everyone  _ knows _ you can’t  _ kill a Jedi,  _ that’s- no. Doesn’t make sense.

(Except the old dreams, the ones that were  _ wrong,  _ terrible, because no they can’t, can’t,  _ wrong.) _

Commander Cody says he killed the General because of them. No order. So, he is not safe and Je’kai is lying. Je’kai lies a lot, to make things better.

It doesn’t work mostly but Naas likes that he tries. But doesn’t like, because that usually means something is more wrong than usual. Je’kai only lies to him when things are  _ bad. _

(Most of the time. But sometimes  _ worse.) _

“So… he’s dead?” he asks, because… how.

What does that mean? If he is dead?

(It is  _ better,  _ now that…  _ dead.) _

“Very,” Commander Cody says, heavy and solid. It is… a promise.

Dead.

Dead.

No more General Krell.

But then… then where is Naas’ battalion supposed to go? What are they? Who’s supposed to take the General’s place? Will they all be terminated?

_ Better. _

That is a lie too.

“Do you know what will happen to us?” Je’kai asks, and Naas looks up, up, at Cody, his scar.

_ Better. _

It is  _ not better. Not. _

“No,” Cody answers. He is like… like a wolf, Naas decides, the ones on Ilum, that are white and silent and that Naas wanted to- wanted to- no no. “But the Generals won’t let anything bad happen to your battalion, Je’kai.” Cody smiles, fierce (definitely a wolf, Naas thinks, like teeth snapping and that shouldn’t have fascinated him but-), says,  _ “We  _ won’t.”

It is not  _ up to _ them.

But Je’kai nods, and not like he’s lying this time.

_ Better. _

He’s  _ dead. _

Je’kai shifts a little, and Naas eases away from him, puts his arms back around his stomach. Je’kai doesn’t like to be touched, not much. Touch isn’t allowed, they aren’t supposed to. (The 501st and the 212th don’t care about that, and Captain Rex hugged him, and Naas  _ wants.  _ Because it’s  _ better.) _ “Do you have extra painkillers with you?” he asks Scratch, the medic, who is…

Is funny?

Scary also.

“I am a medic,” Scratch says, dryly. “And this is a campaign. Of course I have painkillers.”

Naas wants painkillers even though they never help the headaches. And the fever. Beten says he is probably defective if the medicine doesn’t help. But Naas is  _ not  _ defective, he is not, he is exactly right and he is a good soldier, he isn’t a malfunction.

Scratch reaches into his belt, pulls out four pills, holds them out until Je’kai takes them from him. Good. The Captain is bad at medicine.

Naas always wants to fix it.

But no fixing.

But now there is no Krell, so. So.

So what does that  _ mean? _

Je’kai swallows the pills, then bends over (winces, no don’t be  _ stupid), _ and picks up his bracers.

“What the  _ kriff _ do you think you’re doing?” Scratch says.

Naas does not understand Scratch.

“I’m just putting my armor back on?” Je’kai answers, and Scratch crosses his arms and  _ glares. _

“No, you’re  _ not. _ Put those down. I said to sit here, and  _ rest. _ So kriffing listen to me.”

This doesn’t make sense. Naas frowns, looks at Cody, the Marshal Commander, almost a General, but Cody doesn’t look bothered. He’s just rubbing a hand over his bracer with a blue stripe on it, a little absent.

“We aren’t supposed to have our armor off.”

It’s protocol. You have to be ready to go. So armor stays on.

Scratch snorts. “Yeah, yeah, regs. I know the one. No one actually cares though.”

_ What? _ You can’t say that about  _ regs. _

“Well, tell that to our general,” Je’kai says, fitting one bracer around his arm.

“I  _ would,”  _ Scratch  _ snarls _ (how are they all so… so not-right?), “but lucky for him, he’s already dead. I told you to leave that be,  _ vod.” _

“I can’t.”

Naas reaches over, puts his hand around the bracer and Je’kai’s arm, and frowns at the plain white armor piece. Not like their brothers’ armor with all the color.

Naas likes the colors.

He couldn’t paint his armor. Too much. It would have been like Brii, Krell would have seen.

He still wanted to.

Now… he can?

_ Better. _

Je’kai nudges his hand away, gives him a twisted half-smile, and snaps the bracer back off, sets both of them down with the rest of his armor. Good. He’s got to listen to the medic. Even though no armor is not allowed.

What is it all without the General?

Does he have to meet the other Jedi? He doesn’t want to. One of them is  _ here,  _ the one that the Captain- Too wrong. Makes no sense. She is here and he wants her to go away, wants her not here.

_ Better _ than the General, though. He thinks.

She must be if the Captain- If.

And she is asleep. She will not be able to hurt them as fast if she has to wake up first.

Naas does not understand what is going to happen to him, but if he stays with Je’kai (he wishes he could stay with Captain Rex, too, but they will not let him, he thinks), he will be okay. Je’kai almost always knows what to do, and when he does not, then. Then Naas can worry, or ask his rules.

~~~

Ahsoka and Anakin are stuck in debriefings and meetings via holocomm for  _ hours _ after leaving Umbara’s surface.

Literally.

First had been the expected  _ why the hells did you abandon your mission for the Chancellor, _ which had then led into  _ what the hells happened on Umbara, _ which had required explaining  _ multiple times _ that they didn’t know the full story yet, but that Pong Krell was a traitor who had been killed in an  _ unfortunate accident _ shortly after confessing his affiliation with Darth Sidious. 

Which led to even  _ more  _ questions, chief among them being  _ what kind of unfortunate accident, _ which both she and Anakin politely refused to answer. Cody will not be condemned for doing what was right and necessary and just. 

Once the Council had finally released them, after some four hours of debating on subjects like  _ what should we do with the 607th _ (it’d been Ahsoka’s idea to integrate them into the 501st, rather than replacing the nearly-half the battalion lost with  _ shinies), _ there’d been a too-long comm with Chancellor Palpatine, filled with profuse apologies from Anakin and sickeningly insincere forgiveness from said Chancellor.

All in all, it’s  _ too karking much, _ and with how little rest either of them have had lately and the amount of emotional stress, Ahsoka is flat  _ done _ by the time they end the comm with the Chancellor. (She should’ve slept when she Forced Rex to, on Umbara, but she’d chosen to spend the time in meditation instead, trying--and only half-succeeding--to release all the complicated emotions Krell’s interrogation had stirred in her.)

“You should get some sleep, Snips,” Anakin says, and she rolls her eyes.

Says, “I plan on it, thank you very much. What about you, what’re you going to do?”

He sighs. “I’ll rest, but first I need to talk to Kix about--what Krell said.”

_ It used the Force against me. _

Right.

She nods. “Be careful, Skyguy, don’t scare him.”

“Me?” Anakin gives her a  _ look, _ like  _ how could you say that? _ “When have I  _ ever _ scared anyone?” A pause. “Actually, you know what? Don’t answer that. Go see Rex.”

“Yes, Master,” she says, snarkily, rolls her eyes and leaves the bridge behind. Stops in her room to change out of her battle dress and into the soft, fuzzy Hero With No Fear shirt from Alpha and toe off her boots and socks; she tucks her shoto in the waistband of her leggings, wraps the huge, cozy, fluffy blue blanket from Kix around her shoulders (it’s long, so it drags on the ground behind her, but she couldn’t care less right now), and leaves the room again.

She wants Rex.

The barracks are at least full, with the 607th’s remaining troopers taking up most of the empty spaces left by the dead; she pays them little attention as she shuffles in, yawning, makes a beeline straight for Rex’s bunk. Tucks her shoto underneath the second pillow that’s on the bunk specifically for her (and Rex is awake, he’s working on reports or something, she thinks, doesn’t care) and flops next to him, engulfs him in her blanket. It’s extra-big, which is nice--that means she can wrap them  _ both _ up in a blanket roll and be cozy and warm.

“I hate debriefing,” she grumbles, wraps her arms and legs around Rex and tugs him close to her so she can bury her face in his chest. “Dumb Council never shuts  _ up,  _ and then we had t’ talk to stupid Palpatine, an’ I just wanna  _ sleep.” _

_ S _ he’s  _ tired. _ This is all so  _ dumb. _ She just wants Rex, wants to know he’s safe and here and not getting killed by Krell’s  _ idiocy _ and  _ traitor-ness. _ Treachery. Whatever.

She loves him. She’s glad he’s not dead.

~~ _ ~ _

Rex  _ was  _ working on equipment loss reports (the  _ most _ boring, least  _ thinking _ required ones), when Ahsoka waddled in and set half the kriffing barracks on edge.

Now he is simply forced to put his datapad down because there's a blanket and legs and arms coming at him and it would be a lot more adorable (because it  _ is  _ adorable, kriff) if it wasn't also spooking the 607th.

“Hello to you too,” he huffs, peering down at her head against his chest. He settles a hand on her headtail, smiles a bit despite himself. “Thanks for the blanket, ‘Soka.”

“You’re welcome,” she mumbles, wriggling a little to get more comfy, and she pats his shoulder a little as he tries to get more comfortable himself.

“How'd debriefing go?” he asks. He's going to have to debrief soon. Kriff.

“Stupid,” she informs him matter-of-factly. “They wouldn't  _ shut up.” _

“Yes,  _ cyar’ika, _ you said.”

“Well, they  _ wouldn't.” _

Rex chuckles, pats her head a little. “I'm very sorry they made you go through that, ‘Soka. Am I in trouble?” He's sure if he was due for reconditioning or reassignment or something else, she wouldn't have come into the barracks in sleepclothes and wrapped around him like a koala. Still, he has to ask.

“They aren't  _ that _ stupid.” She pulls her face back a little to blink up at him, kind of smug. “They gave us the 607th. You're th’ boss now.” Well, kriff. She tilts her head, considering, then declares, “ _ I'm  _ th’ boss. I'm better at bossing than you are.” She giggles a little, then plunks her head back against his chest with a sigh and he wants to laugh. “Love you, Rexter,” she mumbles.

“Love you too,” he answers.

So the 607th is part of the 501st now. That means shifts in the chain of command, new armor requisitions (the 607th’s armor is in bad repair and half of them are still on Phase One armor), that means Rex is responsible for this frightened battalion now. That's alright, he supposes; at least it's him and not someone who can't understand what's happened to them.

Ahsoka feels like she's asleep, or about to be, so Rex reaches for his datapad and goes back to his reports, clumsily. He has to admit that Ahsoka being here, so close and warm, is a relief. Is safety. Comforting.

He's missed her, he realizes. So much.

~~~

Anakin yawns widely as he steps into the medbay, rolls his shoulders in an attempt to work out some of the knots and kinks in them, scans the area for Kix’s distinctive buzzed hair and tattoos. But there’s nothing, there aren’t even any  _ 501st medics _ in here, there’s just--Scratch and a couple of his junior medics at work.

What the kriff?

“Do you need something, General?” Scratch asks, not looking up from his patient, and Anakin frowns.

“Where’s Kix?”

“Barracks. He and his team are dead on their feet. I swear, by all the little gods, if he’s sleeping and you wake him up…” The medic lets his voice trail off meaningfully, and Anakin nods.

“Got it, Scratch, no worries. I just wanna talk to him really quickly, and then I need sleep myself.”

“What a  _ novel idea,” _ Scratch mutters under his breath, and Anakin chokes back a snort as he turns and leaves the medbay behind, for the barracks.

So half his battalion is now a bunch of terrified, traumatized troopers who apparently don’t even seem to believe they have the right to a  _ name. _ Karking  _ wonderful. _ How’s he supposed to--do this, to help them? They’d be better off with  _ Obi-Wan, _ he’s the  _ soothing _ one. Hells. Anakin is too  _ angry, _ he knows that; he’ll probably just scare them more instead of help them see that most Jedi are not like Krell.

He pushes those thoughts mostly away as he steps into the barracks, runs a hand over his tired eyes and looks for Kix, starts winding his way over to the senior medic. Except that half the 607th troopers, the ones who are awake, push themselves up like they’re going to go into attention, and the  _ kriff? _ “What the hells,” he says, frowning a little, rubbing at his eyes again like maybe this is just some hallucination brought on by stress and lack of sleep. The scene doesn’t go away. So apparently this is real, which makes  _ no sense _ whatsoever. “Why are you--you don’t have to come to attention every time I walk in here,” he says, feeling almost foolish.

Je’kai, the Captain (former Captain?), swallows hard. “Sir, General Krell--” and Anakin is getting  _ really karking tired _ of hearing that name “--required it.”

“Well,” Anakin says, trying not to let his anger show too much, “I’m not Krell. And I’d really rather you guys  _ not _ all jump up to salute me when I walk through.”

“Yes, sir,” Je’kai says, signals  _ at ease _ at his men, and Anakin shakes his head a little, still confused, and finishes walking over to Kix’s bunk.

He glances over at Rex’s bunk as he passes, snorts a little at the large, fuzzy blue blanket wrapped around two figures and falling off the sides of the bunk--Rex has a datapad and is clearly trying to work on reports, while all that can be seen of Ahsoka is her blue-and-white montrals and a little splash of sunset skin barely poking out from under the blanket. It certainly didn’t take her long to get comfortable, he muses, shaking his head a bit, and then he sighs and looks away, settles carefully to sit on the edge of Kix’s bunk.

Kix himself is just--sitting, half-out of his armor, turning his bracer over and over in his hands, staring at the piece of blue-painted plastoid. “I see your gift’s being put to good use,” Anakin says wryly, and Kix jumps a little.

“Wh--yeah,” he says, swallows a bit, doesn’t look up from his bracer. “Yeah, she likes it.”

“So…” Anakin frowns, wonders how to approach the subject, and then shrugs and decides to just go for it. “You know how I wanted to talk to you, when we were en route to Wasskah? Well, that whole conversation got kinda forgotten in the jumble of what  _ happened, _ but… we really need to have it now.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “Krell said you used the Force. I need to know--he wouldn’t have any reason to  _ lie, _ but I just need to know he wasn’t. And then I’d like to know why you didn’t  _ tell anyone, _ Kix, we could’ve been  _ training you. _ Obi-Wan would  _ love _ someone else around to teach all his healing knowledge to, and this battalion  _ really needs _ someone who can actually Force heal with any skill.”

~~~

Kix freezes, fast, and looks around for Jesse or Rex or anyone, really, for… support, he supposes, or reassurance,  _ hells. _ He knows his General, better than most of the battalion, knows what it looks like when Anakin Skywalker is lying. So he shouldn’t be so terrified right now. But they told them, they said, when they were cadets:  _ A malfunction in the batch negatively affects all of you. We cannot win if there is a broken link in the chain - units with this defect will be considered traitors by the Jedi Council and treated as such. It is better to report your batchmates than for your entire squad to come under judgement from the Council and the GAR later. _

The Force is not allowed to clones, and so they don’t talk about it. Kix has pretended for a long time that he can’t hear it, Jesse was the only one he told. Now… now everyone knows. Knows that he is what he’s not supposed to be.

He could be terminated for this - but he has to remember General Skywalker wouldn’t let that happen. So, he sets down his bracer and folds his hands together in his lap, glances around briefly at all the troopers (pretending they aren’t watching; and then there’s Rex, extricating himself awkwardly from Commander Tano’s clinging limbs). “I did use the Force,” he says, neutral as he can manage.  _ (It hums at him, all-too-present now.) _ “We are not supposed to ever leave Kamino, if we can do that. Use the Force. They… terminate the Force sensitives. They said you Jedi called us traitors, if we could…” He shrugs. Twists his fingers harder together.

_ Easy, little one. _

Part of him just wants the Force to go away again, but he can’t seem to put it back in the box, now that it’s out. It talks. A lot.

General Skywalker swears, harsh, curls his hands into fists, and Kix almost tells him to  _ shut up, _ because the 607th. But his General contains it on his own, his eyes blazing. “They  _ terminate  _ you?”

“Yes, sir,” Kix sighs. Rex has finally gotten free from Commander Tano’s grasp, and he comes over to stand by Kix’s bunk, which helps some.

“Karking hells! Why didn’t any of you  _ tell us this?” _

Kix sighs, rubs his head. His hair is getting too long, but he can still feel the shapes of the designs he shaved into it. “We thought you knew, I guess.” But more it was something they did  _ not _ talk about, because it was not allowed, it was defective.

You don’t tell your Generals if you’re defective. Not unless it affects your performance, and Kix had not allowed the Force to affect his performance more than a few times.

And he’s not sure if it’s even really a  _ defect,  _ but there are things that are just too hard to unlearn.

“Well, we  _ didn’t,”  _ Skywalker growls. “I can’t believe that’s been going on this whole  _ damn  _ time.”

Kix shrugs. It’s just one more thing, in some ways. He hates it, but it’s one of those things that they just have to live with. Maybe… maybe not now.

Somehow he doesn’t think that General Skywalker is going to stand by and let this  _ continue,  _ though, not without a fight, and in a way that’s odd. Partly it’s a relief that his General knows.

“You said…” Kix fidgets, despite himself. “General Kenobi might teach me healing?” Because he’s wished he could do that, before.  _ (Heal them,  _ the Force tells him, and he makes the mistake of soothing away yellow bruises, and he should be afraid but it just feels  _ right.) _

~~~

“Yeah,” Anakin says, blinking a bit, looking up from his hands to meet Kix’s eyes. “Yeah, he’d be  _ thrilled. _ Neither Snips nor I was ever any good at it--though Ahsoka’s actually a bit better than I am--so he couldn’t really teach either of us much. He’d love to have an actual  _ healer _ to teach. And Kalifa won’t be ready for a while.”

“I--might like that,” Kix says, almost  _ shyly, _ and Anakin grins a bit.

“Yeah,” he says again, “I figure you probably would. But you should get some sleep--Scratch already threatened to murder me. I should get some sleep too,” he adds, thoughtfully, sighing and pushing himself to his feet. “Scratch might murder me  _ again _ if I don’t.”

“Good choice, sir,” Kix says, though he still looks a bit… anxious, almost. Which Anakin supposes is fair, if the Kaminoans really have been-- _ terminating _ every Force-sensitive clone they could get their stupid white hands on. Terminating? More like  _ murdering. _

Yeah, that’s not  _ okay. _ He’s gonna have a karking  _ chat _ with the Council about this.

He nods at Rex as he passes, spares another glance for his Padawan, still sound asleep under her blanket, and then manages a smile at Je’kai on his way by. The entire 607th is…  _ hells, _ that’s going to be an adventure and a half. If they’re all terrified of him how’s he supposed to  _ help? _

He isn’t sure, and that worries him more than he’d like to admit.

~~~

Rex puts a hand on Kix’s shoulder, sighing and offering him a grin. “Could’ve told you that would go well,” he says wryly. General Skywalker had been the one Rex was least worried about, as far as Kix’s Force sensitivity - really, Rex wouldn’t be worried at all, except that the GAR tends to stick its nose where it does not belong and he will  _ not  _ lose his medic, his  _ vod, _ over this.

“Yeah,” Kix huffs, picking up his bracer and turning it over in his hands. “Just… old habits die hard.”

Rex sighs again. “Yeah. You got any rest yet?”

“Going to.”

Rex raises an eyebrow dubiously, because Kix is alright about getting rest, but Rex knows he doesn’t always follow his own (very good) advice. “Make sure of that,  _ vod.” _

Kix rolls his eyes a little. “Yes, sir,” he snarks, and Rex shakes his head and heads back towards his own bunk and ‘Soka.

Who has, it appears, stolen his pillow and is cuddling with it. He chuckles a little to himself, strides back to the edge of the bunk and sits down, reaches for his pillow.

Ahsoka does not let go, and after a second of tugging ineffectually (and her burying her face further into the pillow), he gives up, nudges her shoulder. “Ahsoka. Ahsoka, for kriff’s sake, I want that back.”

She mumbles incoherently, a hand twitching like she wants to shoo him away, and then rolls over a bit so she’s on  _ top _ of the damn pillow.

“‘Soka,” he groans. “Wake up,  _ di’kut.” _ He shoves her shoulder a little harder, grumbling to himself.

“Not an idiot,” she says.

Sure she isn’t.

“Want my pillow back.”

“Ahsoka, you have  _ both  _ the pillows, mine and yours.  _ Di’kut.” _

“Not  _ those _ ones, dumb butt.” She waves her hand at him again.

Rex laughs,  _ really _ laughs, surprising himself, and pokes her shoulder. “Then what pillow, Ahsoka?”

There’s a loud huff of breath muffled against his pillow, then she flops over very dramatically and peers at him, sleepy and annoyed, through one eye.  _ “You,  _ stupid.”

“I’m… a pillow? Really?” Rex blinks, considers that for a minute. So this is new. Not unpleasant though.

“Comfy one too,” she says, nodding sagely. “C’mere.”

“Only if you give me my pillow back,” he retorts, reaching across her for his datapad.

She does  _ not  _ appreciate that, apparently; she opens her other eye, raises an eyebrow, and glances from him to his datapad and back a few times. He doesn’t get what she’s so mad about. As he turns the datapad on again and reopens a report, she says, more awake now apparently, “Now who’s the  _ di’kut?” _

“Still you,” he says calmly. “And you still have my pillow. You gonna give it back?”

The pillow flops sudden and not entirely unwelcome against the side of his head, and as he grabs it with one hand, his datapad yanks out of his other and lands in hers, and she leans away and turns it off, sets it out of reach.

“Would you stop taking my things, Ahsoka?” he grumbles, gesturing a little with his pillow.

She glares at him. “No. Now come sleep.”

“I’m not tired right now, ‘Soka,” he sighs, toeing off his boots and sliding further onto the bed. He could reach his datapad again, he’s faster than she is because she’s still half-asleep.

“Banthashit.”

“I’m  _ not.” _ He doesn’t want to sleep anymore right now, he’s  _ fine. _ And he has reports to work on, as he always does after campaigns, and it’s better to get them done sooner.

She sighs, reaches up and grabs his arm, tugging gently. “What would Kix say?”

“Kix is busy,” Rex says. “And I’m not doing anything stupid. I’m just not tired again yet, that’s all.” He does let her pull him down to lie on his side, propped up on one elbow.

“I’ll  _ make _ you sleep again,” she threatens, still hanging onto his arm.

“Cheating.”

“Don’t  _ care,”  _ she mumbles, flicking his cuirass. “All’s fair in love and war.”

“And which is this?” Rex cups her jaw in one hand, running his thumb over her cheek. She’s too  _ kriffing _ adorable.

She sighs, hums a little. “Both, you dumbass. At least ‘til you take your dumb poky armor off and  _ sleep.” _

“Fine. I will in a bit. Just gonna do some reports first, I’ll be quiet.”

“Your armor is  _ poky,”  _ she growls sleepily, reopening one eye to glare in what he  _ suspects _ is supposed to be a threatening way.

He hesitates, then grumbles and sits back up, quietly swearing to himself. Demanding little  _ besom.  _ He stacks his armor pieces  _ slightly  _ louder than necessary, the belt and kama too, leaves on Cody’s bracer and settles the vibroblade in his palm. He’s not going to sleep, but he wants the knife in reach nonetheless.

Reaching for his datapad again, he settles back down on the bunk, lying on his stomach, and turns the device back on. Ahsoka shuffles a little, then drapes her arm over his back (blanket and all) and plops her head between his shoulder blades with a sigh. She better be happy now, he put in so much  _ effort. _

“Love you, dummy,” he says to her, snorting. She drowsily pulls her arm off his back and lets it smack back down, poking a finger into his ribs.

“You’re  _ stupid,”  _ she mumbles. “Love you too.”

~~~

Brii can’t  _ think. _

He needs--he needs his  _ sketchbook back, _ he needs to  _ draw, _ the Captain shouting his names and Commander Cody so quiet and still and the general dead on the floor and Naas and Captain Je’kai and Commander Tano hugging Captain Rex and--and stop it, no, enough. He can’t. No book. No book means no drawing.

But his nice paints and pencils are here, and his fingers  _ need to move, _ need to, he needs--needs to, so he pulls his armor off a piece at a time, sets it down careful, in order, and then he pulls out his paints and his brushes and he coats the whole armor in primer, covers everything up, turns it blank slate like durasteel, grey and cold, lets it dry. Fidgets until he’s tearing little threads of his blacks away, swallows hard, and then  _ finally, _ finally, it’s dry.

Finally he can--do something.

He starts on the cuirass, drawing thick blue lines, the Mando’a letters fluid and easy, flowing out of his brush.  _ Lofty. Hawk. Dani. Kenic. Ramble. Filch. Decker. Chopper. _ All the names they’d shouted and sobbed and whispered.

The numbers, too. The numbers he draws in orange and dark red and blue, for their battalion, covers his cuirass and his pauldrons and his bracers and his greaves.  _ Waxer. Ter. Mesh. _

_ Hardcase. _

His hand shakes the most on that one, and he swallows hard, takes a shaky breath and tightens his fingers too much on his paintbrush, and--

And there’s a hand on his shoulder, careful, and Brii looks back to see Naas standing there, cautious, just watching. Brii manages a tight smile, rasps, “I’ll add your names--if you… want. If you know them.”

“I know them. I… I can tell you,” Naas says, and kneels down next to him. 

Brii picks up the pot of dark red paint again, gets the brush that goes with it, listens carefully as Naas recites them, paints them all over, some small and swirled around the letters of the larger names  _ (Ulyc _ around  _ Hardcase, _ careful as the name itself). The younger  _ vod _ reaches out one finger, taps by the name where his finger won’t smudge the paint, says, “He was nice to me,” so very softly.

Brii swallows. “Well, he’s got a spot right by where my heart is, see? With Hardcase.”

“Who was… Hardcase?”

Brii smiles, just a little. “He always told us his growth tube got kriffed up, so he was--hyperactive. He used to sneak smoke bombs into the barracks and light them off all the time,” and he sighs, fondly. “He’s the one who helped Jesse and Fives blow up the supply ship.”

As he finishes speaking, he picks up his helmet, the only thing he didn’t paint over, and picks up a new pot of paint. Purple. He’d just gotten it, had been  _ so excited _ to add it to his armor, but--but now, no. He’ll only use it for this one thing. He draws the tally marks thick and fat and visible, one for every  _ vod _ he knows he killed. Too many. His hands shake a little again, and he swallows.

“Oh. So that was him,” Naas says, and Brii nods. “Sorry.”

_ “Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la.” _ Brii sighs, runs his fingers over the little black tallies. He will not count this as a battle won. Not this one. They didn’t win anything.

They lost.

Lost and lost and lost.

They have the planet now.

Not worth it. Brii shakes his head, breathes shaky and slow, leans a little into Naas’ hand on his shoulder, grateful for the support. It helps. Helps with the shake in his hand, the nerves that make him need to draw and draw and draw until all the images are  _ gone, _ until he can sleep and not be bothered.

Tup might come over soon, he thinks, though he doesn’t look up; his  _ ori’vod _ always seems to know when it’s too  _ much. _ He hopes Naas and Tup like each other. It would be sad if they didn’t.

“You can use my paint,” he tells Naas, quiet, drags his brush in the last careful purple streak across his helmet. “For your armor. If you want. Everybody gets paint here, General Skywalker likes it.”

~~~

Paint.

Naas never wanted paint, before. Krell notices- noticed the ones with paint more. (He thinks that might be why Je’kai had paint and a tattoo. Je’kai  _ always _ made Krell angry; on purpose, Naas sometimes thinks.)

But Naas likes colors, likes seeing other battalions, likes Je’kai’s sunburst of paint on his helmet and the circles on Beten’s armor and the simple outlines on red on Haat’s cuirass and pauldrons. And he liked… Hardcase’s armor, he thinks, it was cool.

He has never thought about paint.

Then it makes him sad because he can't want it.

But, but, but, Brii has  _ so much paint.  _ And he says General Skywalker  _ (better, worse)  _ likes the paint. So. And everybody gets paint. Captain Rex has cool paint. So.

He could paint his.

He could… could…

_ “Nayc,”  _ he says quietly.  _ “I can't… can't have paint.” _

Brii blinks and frowns, and Naas isn't sure if that's because of the sudden switch to Mando’a or the answer itself. “Sure you can,” he says easily, calm. His hands are shaking.

_ Worse. _

So many names on that armor. It can't be allowed, painting all that. In Mando’a. In so many  _ different _ colors.

_ “No, it's - it's too much, he notices.” _

Another trooper, with long hair and a tattoo like a tear on his face wanders over, crouches down on the other side of Brii.

Naas should go, they are friends.

“Hey,  _ ori’vod, _ you okay?” the trooper asks, and shoots Naas a smile.

Should he stay, then? He hesitates, pushes himself into a crouch. Should go. They do not need him.

Except Brii is still leaning into his hand.

“It's… I  _ can't, _ Tup,” Brii says, and the trooper (Tup?) puts both arms around him and Naas jolts his hand away.

“Your armor looks real good,  _ vod’ika,”  _ Tup says, softly, and Naas scrambles to his feet to go away because they don't want him there, he can't possibly understand- his  _ vode  _ are not like this.

“Hey, wait, Naas-” Brii twists around, hanging onto Tup somehow (and no, touching like that is not supposed to be  _ allowed), _ and frowns almost pleadingly at Naas. “What about painting? You should stay and try it.”

Naas shakes his head, hesitating.  _ “I can't,”  _ he says, but he does stay.

Because Brii is upset.

And Naas likes Brii.

And he could make it  _ better. _

He plops back down on the floor, his armor clattering a bit, and reaches out to pat Brii’s shoulder again. 

(Brii is just in blacks, that is not allowed.)

Why doesn't anything make  _ sense? _

Brii drops his face against Tup’s shoulder, and Naas thinks he's being  _ stupid,  _ but Tup smiles at him again.

Naas likes Tup’s tattoo.

“I'm Tup,” says Tup, nodding a bit.

Naas swallows. He doesn't understand why the 501st give away their names so easily. It's not safe, to do that. “I'm… Naas,” he says, lifting one shoulder awkwardly.

Brii leans away from Tup, turns around and smiles at Naas.

Smiles.

Both of them.

_ Better. _

“You gonna take your armor off?” Brii asks.

_ “Nayc!”  _ Naas should not have yelled.

Oh no.

Both of them frown, and Brii looks down. “Sorry, Naas, I- I didn't mean to.”

Oh.

Naas curls his arms around his stomach.

“It's okay here, you know,” Brii says quietly. “We're allowed.”

No, you leave armor on in the barracks. That's regs. Naas shakes his head, although he wants the red paint.

And the blue, now, he guesses, he's supposed to be  _ General Skywalker’s,  _ now.  _ Better. _

“Can I paint something? Just, on your pauldron, or- or something?” Brii asks.

Tup raises both eyebrows, although Naas doesn't understand why.

“Okay,” he says, cautiously. “Careful?”

“Sure,” his  _ vod’ika _ says,  _ very  _ bright smile,  _ why? _

~~~

Naas hands over his pauldron, carefully, and Brii takes it and pulls out his  _ small _ brushes, the thin ones he usually uses when he’s painting his sketches. He needs to do something  _ complicated, _ more difficult than the names. An animal, maybe, Naas seems like he’d  _ like _ animals. Maybe a loth-cat?

Yes, he thinks--a loth-cat would be fun to draw.

Brii doesn’t think Naas really understands the--the possible  _ significance _ behind Brii offering to paint on his armor, and that’s okay, for now. He doesn’t need to understand for it to be true.

He draws the outline first in pencil, a light light sketch, big ears and big eyes and rounded face, body, rolling on its back and biting at its fluffy tail, and then he pulls out the brown paints, tawny and chocolate and rich browns in between, starts carefully filling in the colors. Splashes of darker brown spots and streaks, lighter brown for the main color, shading and swirling the paints together until the image comes to life. Black for the slit pupil; 501st blue (of course) for the iris, blinking lazily up off the pauldron, and shades of green for the grass underneath the loth-cat’s back. 

He focuses his whole mind on the picture in front of him, pretends he’s sketching Umbara, pretends this single loth-cat is  _ enough _ for all the--no don’t think about that now, or his hands will shake and he’ll mess  _ up _ and he can’t, can’t mess up. So don’t think. Just draw. 

He reaches up one hand, rubs at his face tiredly, focuses harder on getting the swirl of browns  _ exactly right _ on the loth-cat’s face and ears, until finally,  _ finally, _ he thinks he might be done.

So Brii looks up and offers the pauldron back, hesitantly, says, “It needs to dry before you can put it back on--” and stops because--because Naas is  _ crying? _

Oh  _ no, _ did he--did he mess up, did he do something  _ wrong, _ maybe Naas doesn’t  _ like it, _ and Brii pulls back in confusion, looks to Tup for  _ answers. _ “It’s good,  _ vod’ika,” _ his  _ ori’vod _ says, but that’s not--Naas doesn’t--he shakes his head and swallows and frowns.

“Do--do you like it?” he asks, hesitantly.

Naas scrubs at his face with one hand, says, “I don’t  _ get it, _ it’s too--it’s--it looks like--why did you paint it for  _ me?” _

Brii swallows harder, looks down. “I thought… you might like animals,” he admits, hunches his shoulders just a little bit, even though Tup puts a hand on his shoulder and tightens his fingers, reassuring. “And you don’t have any paint on your armor, and I need--I don’t have my sketchbook,” and that makes him suck in a shaky breath, that, “and--”

His voice cuts off because Naas is  _ launching _ himself forward, wrapping his arms around Brii’s waist and hugging him.  _ Hugging him! _ So maybe--Brii sets down the pauldron, careful, and puts his arms around Naas’ shoulders, pats his back tentatively.

“I’m sorry about your sketchbook,” Naas says quietly, and Brii closes his eyes and swallows hard.

“Yeah, me too,” he rasps. “But--Captain Rex  _ and _ General Skywalker said they’re gonna get me a new one, so--I’ll still be able to draw, at least.”

~~~

“I… like Captain Rex,” Naas says, carefully. He wants to say he likes the General too, but. He is not sure. “It’s good you’ll have a new sketchbook.”

He can’t… The General. Getting a  _ sketchbook. _ To  _ give _ to Brii?

That is a trick, surely.

But Brii had his old sketchbook already. Does that mean that their General really doesn’t mind them having things? Brii also says that General Skywalker likes the armor paint.

Naas does not understand those things.

“Yeah,” Brii says tiredly, smiling a little. “It is good.” He glances back down at Naas’ pauldron. “So… You  _ do  _ like it?”

Naas finds himself smiling, although he can't make the tears go away. “Yeah. Yeah,  _ vod’ika.” _

That draws a surprised snort out of Tup, and Brii laughs. Naas tries not to smile wider but he's realizing that Brii doesn't know that there's  _ paint  _ on his face, around his eyes.  _ Paint. _ He giggles to himself and quickly puts a hand over his mouth; Brii raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Naas starts to tell him, but then he notices Tup making dramatic hand motions that seem to mean  _ stop, abort, shush,  _ and he stammers a little, confused. Tup is grinning and smirking at Naas, like they share a joke, and Naas realizes after a second of gaping that Tup wants him  _ not _ to tell Brii about the paint. As… a  _ prank,  _ he guesses?

So he snaps his mouth shut just as Brii turns to glare suspiciously at Tup, who looks completely innocent, shrugs at Brii.

Naas can’t help a smile though, and then a giggle, and then laughing  _ hard, _ because Brii has  _ no idea _ and Naas  _ does _ and Brii looks  _ funny _ and Tup does too and, and, and.

_ So much better. _

He puts both hands over his face and tries to hide his giggles because it’s a  _ joke,  _ he has to keep the secret, only he peeks through his fingers and Brii is staring at him in bemusement, the brown and blue and purple paint still streaking his eyebrows and cheeks.

It’s  _ so funny! _

Tup is laughing now too, and Naas pulls his hands away from his face to see Brii stab a finger at Tup, although he’s clearly smiling  _ (happy, amused, still hurting), _ saying, “What did you  _ do,  _ Tup?”

Tup grins. “Nothing, Brii. I swear.”

Naas shouldn’t think this is so  _ fun,  _ maybe. Maybe.

He folds his hands in his lap, bites his lip and fidgets a little, because he wants to tell Brii, because that will be funnier now, but Tup is still stubbornly not mentioning it yet, so. He won’t either. No spoiling the  _ prank. _

Still, he can’t help  _ giggling,  _ because  _ better. _

~~~

When Naas had gone over to the younger trooper, Brii, to watch him paint, Je’kai had pushed himself up to a sitting position, to watch. He is still in only half his armor--the medic, Scratch, had bound his ribs and put a bacta patch over the torn and bruised skin and ordered-- _ ordered!-- _ him to leave his armor off  _ on pain of untraceable death, Captain Je’kai, and don’t you  _ **_dare_ ** _ think I wouldn’t do it. _

Je’kai had had to stifle a response about how it could be  _ untraceable _ if everyone knew who the threat came from. He had the  _ feeling _ Scratch would not have appreciated the comeback.

He’s not supposed to still be awake, either, or to be sitting up, or moving around, or anything, apparently--one would think he’d almost  _ died, _ not just gotten a few injured ribs, from the way the medics are treating him. But there isn’t any room in the medbay for less critically-injured troopers, so Scratch had  _ graciously _ allowed him to return to the barracks. As though the medic would’ve been able to keep  _ him away _ from his men. Hardly.

At any rate, all the 501st medics are asleep, or are  _ supposed _ to be anyway, so when Je’kai hears Naas  _ laughing _ (Naas has  _ never _ laughed, not in all the time Je’kai has known him), Je’kai pushes himself to his feet to go over to see. Naas is sitting on the floor with Brii and another trooper, the one they call Tup, he thinks, and it is--good. Good, to see Naas  _ smiling, _ laughing.

He takes about five steps over and suddenly a trooper is materializing in front of him, saying, “Just where the  _ kriff _ do you think you’re going, Captain?”

Je’kai blinks, quashes the irrational urge to raise his hands in surrender. “I--”

“Unless your answer is  _ back to bed, _ I’m gonna karking report you to Scratch,” the trooper interrupts,  _ very _ sharply (and also wearily, though that’s hidden in the grumpiness). “What, did you think we weren’t paying attention?”

So he must be one of the medics (and the fact that both these battalions have more than one medic is so--he can’t think about it). Je’kai swallows, says carefully, “Well, to be quite honest, trooper, yes.”

“Little  _ gods, _ you karking  _ Captain types,” _ the trooper complains, throwing his hands up and storming away a few paces. “Can’t you just--I don’t know, kriffing  _ chill? _ They’re fine.”

“Captain types?” Je’kai repeats, utterly at a loss. “I don’t--what’s your name?”

The question slips out before he can  _ think, _ and he winces a little, because  _ gods, _ that’s always a bad question to ask--but the trooper just rolls his eyes, says, “Tuck. I’m one of Kix’s junior medics.”

Je’kai blinks again, and then frowns and says, “I thought Scratch told you all to-- _ karking go the hells to sleep or I’ll sedate you all and tie you to your bunks.” _

Tuck shrugs, looks a  _ bit _ sheepish. “He threatens a lot when he’s stressed. Besides,  _ I’m _ not the one walking around with  _ broken ribs.” _

Je’kai sighs. “I just want to go see my  _ vod’ika,” _ he explains, tiredly. “He’s with the one you call Brii.”

A shadow crosses Tuck’s face, just for a moment, and then he sighs. “Hells. Don’t let Kix know I let you do this,” he says, scrubs at his face with one hand, and then waves at him. “Come on, then, sir. Bring your armor with you, Brii’d  _ love _ to help you paint it.”

Je’kai frowns, askance, but does as Tuck suggests, leaving his gunbelt and kama behind, walks the rest of the way over to the bunk. Says, lightly,  _ “Su cuy’gar, vod’ika,” _ and settles himself down.  _ “Glad to see you’re having fun, Naas.” _

_ “Haa’tayli,” _ Naas says, pointing at Brii, and Je’kai  _ snorts _ because the  _ vod’ika _ has  _ paint _ all over his face, and seems to be mostly unaware of that fact.

Tuck settles to sit on Je’kai’s other side, with a pointed look, and Brii frowns at them all before looking down at his stained hands.

“Oh,  _ no,” _ he says, dramatically.  _ “Hells. _ I’ve got paint all over my face again, don’t I?”

“Yeah,  _ vod’ika,” _ Tup says lightly. “You do.”

Je’kai snorts again, chuckles a little, because  _ gods. _ They are so--bright, and happy somehow, still. He really isn’t certain how.

~~~

Brii is cursing, scrubbing at his face with the sleeves of his blacks (which aren’t so black now, oh no, that’s  _ definitely  _ not regulation), and Je’kai is almost  _ laughing,  _ which he doesn’t do, much.

Naas  _ likes  _ Brii.

“I knew,” he pronounces, shyly. “I knew it was there.”

Brii rolls his eyes at him, claps a hand to his forehead. “How could you  _ betray  _ me like this, Naas?”

Naas grins, a little unsure. (This is good, right?) “It was  _ funny,”  _ he says, like Brii is stupid.

Brii is not stupid. But the face he makes,  _ highly _ offended, is  _ hilarious. _

“I thought we were friends,” Brii says.

Friends?

_ Friends? _

_ Friends! _

Holy kriffing  _ little gods. _ He. What.  _ Better.  _ Good even. He doesn’t mean to but he  _ gapes,  _ sputtering, and Je’kai laughs, pats him on the shoulder. But he… This is weird. This is not like anything Naas is used to.

“We are!” Naas says, fast, because, because, because. A new  _ friend. _ He. They do not talk like that, in his battalion.

This  _ is  _ his battalion now.

_ Better! _

Good.

Brii grins at him, although he looks vaguely confused, then he leans over and points accusingly, and Naas just grins back, excited. “Well, then, why didn’t you tell me I had paint on my face?”

Naas shrugs. “I told you, it was  _ funny.” _

Je’kai laughs again, and Brii grumbles before suddenly grabbing Naas around the shoulders (wait no, why) and tugging him close, pressing their foreheads together with a laugh.

Which is  _ not allowed. _

But it’s… nice. So.

Brii scoots back very fast, suddenly, and Naas is… he is disappointed. “Um, sorry,” Brii says, sheepish, looking down. “I didn’t mean to.”

Naas cocks his head to one side. Brii is embarrassed. And worried. Worried about Naas. So. “It’s okay,” he says seriously.

It’s probably okay.

There are no Jedi here, except the one that has Rex, and she is asleep.

But…

Well.

Naas is not sure.

But he almost thinks that these Jedi are  _ different. _ Because it is better, feels better, when they are around (although… although not always, with General Skywalker, he is  _ angry _ a lot), and Captain Rex has hugged  _ two  _ of them, and the Togrutan one is asleep in a fuzzy blanket (which Naas wants) with Rex.

He doesn’t understand any of that. But it all seems better than… than  _ him,  _ anyway.

_ He’s _ dead.

Naas is not sure whether that makes him feel more sick or satisfied.

Either way, he is here now.

And this (Brii laughing, Tup making fun of him, the grouchy medic, Rex) is his battalion now.

He thinks it could be much  _ worse. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Ulyc: careful
> 
> Haa'tayli: look


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no new warnings on this chapter; just more dealing with the aftermath of all that Krellishness.

When they get back to Coruscant, the quiet, mostly-peaceful atmosphere of the hyperspace flight is neatly shattered by  _ chaos. _

Kix, Tuck, Sniper, and the rest of his medics are awake again, hauling wounded clones to the medbay--and  _ Force, _ there are  _ so many wounded. _

Anakin sighs, eyeing the 607th--technically  _ his men, _ now--as they file off the transports, muses to himself that from the way they’re carrying themselves, a solid half of them are probably injured and hiding it. Which is--how the hells are they supposed to  _ heal _ if they  _ hide their injuries? _

The kriff is  _ wrong _ with them? 

The kriff is wrong--was wrong--with  _ Krell? _

Speaking of Krell.

_ Snips, _ he says, touching their training bond lightly,  _ I’m gonna go have a little chat with the Council. Keep an eye on everyone, okay? And let Rex know I want us to debrief with him when I get back. _

_ Don’t get yourself expelled, Skyguy, _ comes the response, and Anakin rolls his eyes, sends the mental equivalent of a rude hand gesture, and sets a fast pace for the Council chambers.

It’s time he and they have a Talk.

He doesn’t bother to wait for the dumb guards to open the doors to the Council chamber, just shoves through the double doors, pushing them both open at once and storming through, letting them slam closed behind him with a loud booming  _ thud. _

The entire Council is present in some form, though a good half of them are holos--and he’s oddly pleased to see Shaak karking Ti among them (not even a holo, but actually, physically,  _ present, _ like she’s back for some reason or another). She’s half at fault for all this, he decides, since she’s the one who’s  _ stationed on Kamino. _ How could she let this  _ happen? _

“Skywalker,” Yoda says genially. “Good to see you, it is. Expecting you, we were.”

Anakin glares at Obi-Wan.  _ You kriffing-- _

_ I had to give them time to comm everyone, Anakin, _ Obi-Wan interrupts, folding his hands in front of him.  _ I am just as angry about this as you are, and you know it. _

Hells, he hates when his Master is right.

“I have a  _ bunch  _ of questions,” he snaps out, finally, “and I better karking get the right answers. One: why in all the  _ hells _ was Krell allowed to treat his troopers that way? They don’t even karking believe they have the right to a  _ name, _ and their Captain has a damned  _ lightsaber burn scar _ on his  _ face! _ Two: can someone  _ please tell me,” _ and he glares straight at Shaak Ti, “why the Jedi would  _ ever _ allow the damn Kaminoans to  _ murder every single Force-sensitive cadet and tell them all the Jedi agree?” _

~~~

Skywalker does always like to make a fuss. Shaak Ti does not understand why Knight Skywalker could not have handled this  _ calmly. _ He has not picked up on his Master’s tact, unfortunately. But perhaps, in this instance, that is understandable.

As for the cadets… troubling. She has not been made aware of such a mass termination, and it is concerning that this has escaped her notice. There are many things involved in the day-to-day workings of the Kaminoan cloning facilities; she cannot be expected to know of them all.

Still, the Council’s ongoing eruption of outrage and confusion is a reasonable one. The murder of younglings is no small offense.

Knight Skywalker is still glaring at her - he is not a subtle one, has never been. In some ways, Shaak Ti cannot believe that he is Master Kenobi’s protégé. One would think that Obi-Wan would have managed to pass on  _ some  _ diplomacy.

“I myself would like to know the answers to those questions,” Master Kenobi says, smoothly, cutting through the pervasive clamor. “I’m more concerned, at this moment, about the murder of the clone younglings.”

Ah, Obi-Wan is angry. A rather unusual occurrence; Obi-Wan is usually exemplary at  _ letting go. _ But then, he is young, and sometimes reckless, so allowances must be made.

He looks over at her with a deferential nod, and she nods back, calmly. Knight Skywalker really  _ must _ learn to control some of his anger; Shaak Ti thinks, wryly, that his glare could melt durasteel.

“I was not aware of the Kaminoan method of handling Force-sensitivity among the cadets,” she says peacefully. “I am not involved in the smaller details of the program, I am there to oversee.”

Knight Skywalker scowls heavier. “‘Smaller details’? Since when are  _ lives  _ **_smaller details?”_ **

She meets his eyes, waits for him to calm down. She might be waiting a while.

“You sound like you and Krell would’ve gotten along,” he mutters. Forgetting her sharp hearing, she suspects.

Shaak Ti does not give space to anger and hate, but Krell has earned her disgust. The comparison is unjust.

Master Kenobi, of course, rushes in to repair Skywalker’s… faux pas. “Master Ti, those ‘small details’ could not have been noticed by anyone but yourself. Avoiding large-scale disasters like this was, if I remember correctly, the main reason you were sent to supervise.”

“Master Kenobi, I cannot stop what I have no knowledge of,” she says. “The Kaminoans do not tell me everything. I cannot always seek out answers they will not give me, especially if I do not know what I am looking for.”

She is not some over-eager Initiate snooping about corridors for answers to every curiosity she has. Some questions must be prioritized. And she had not been given cause to believe that anything unfortunate happened to Force-sensitive cadets - she had not even been sure there  _ were  _ any.

Whether the clones could be sensitives had been an area of research of hers, for a time, but she found no satisfactory answers and the Kaminoans never reported any anomalies of that nature.

It is deeply unfortunate that she was wrong. Mass termination of young sentients… That is horrific.

(Strange, she thinks, that there were no echoes in the Force; stranger still that the biochips the Kaminoans had been implanting were so malicious and she had not been aware, had not felt.)

Much has, it seems, not been right.

~~~

This is, indeed, disturbing news.

Plo thinks he is not entirely certain which  _ piece _ of it is the more disturbing: the news of the murder of so many young ones, or the fact that Master Ti herself has not felt a thing about this, in the Force. Surely the younglings would--cry out? If  _ any _ one of them was strongly empathic, he would have made his sensitivity known from a very early age.

He thinks there is something not right on Kamino, and the Force, for once, responds, agrees emphatically. He wonders how many of the other Councillors will feel this.

“This is most disturbing,” Master Windu says, steepling his fingers in front of his nose. “How did you come by this information, Skywalker?”

Skywalker stops glaring at Shaak, instead switches his rather impressive stare to Mace, clenching his jaw and fists both. “Because after  _ Krell _ kriffing ordered the 212th and the 501st to  _ attack each other, _ my Captain decided to take a stand for his men. Krell fought back. My medic, Kix, used the Force in some way against him, and while we were interrogating Krell, we learned from another of my men that Force-sensitives are  _ terminated,” _ and he spits the word out like it’s poison (and Plo finds he agrees with that sentiment), “and that the Kaminoans say the Jedi would call them all traitors.”

_ That _ is not right.

The Force should have alerted them; yet, this is perhaps just another reminder that the Sith Lord is still out there, waiting, hiding, lurking. Biding his time.

“I am beginning to wonder if the Kaminoans themselves are affiliated with the Sith,” Plo says thoughtfully, tapping one nail against his breathing apparatus and humming a bit. “I fear it is only the Sith who could hide such a mass-murder of Force-sensitives.”

“I agree, unfortunately,” Obi-Wan says, and sighs. “But we should not have overlooked this matter. Have we grown so reliant upon the Force we cannot utilize other means of subterfuge? I, for one, know the younglings explore all over the place. Ahsoka Tano and her clan snuck out of the creche through the ventilation shafts all the time,” and Plo hides an inappropriate snort, because of course little ‘Soka did, “and I am fairly certain my own Padawan has been eavesdropping on our meetings for the last few days.” He tilts his head, eyes going unfocused in that particular way that indicates a communication through a training bond, a little half-smile crossing his face.

Plo does the same, after a moment, chuckling and nudging Jinx’s mind.  _ Have you had your fill of politics yet, little one? _

_ Never, Master, _ Jinx retorts, and Plo shakes his head. “Perhaps we should send younglings to Kamino,” he muses. “Certainly, if there are any mysteries to be found there, the younglings would root them out.”

He means it as a joke, of course.

But surprisingly, Master Yoda  _ hums _ in that way of his, says, “Truly wonderful, the mind of a child is,” and he pushes himself to his feet, taps his gimer stick on the floor. “A sound idea, Master Plo. Younglings, we will send, on an educational trip to Kamino. Discover the root of this disturbance, we must.”

“I quite agree,” says Obi-Wan.

Skywalker, unsurprisingly, looks utterly nonplussed. Plo sighs, fond. The Knight means well, though he is often overly emotional; he is highly protective of his men, and that is likely what brought this on. “You said your medic is sensitive?” Plo asks, considering.

Skywalker  _ cringes, _ mutters, “Oh, Kix is gonna kill me,” under his breath, and nods sheepishly. “Yes, Master. I spoke with him and he has expressed interest in studying Force healing under Master Kenobi.”

Formality from Skywalker? Things are grave indeed. Plo allows himself a small smile at the thought. “I see no harm in that,” he says genially, inclining his head. “I also see no reason he should not be allowed a lightsaber.”

Skywalker looks utterly  _ shocked. _

“We do have extra crystals in the workrooms,” Kenobi says thoughtfully. “I see no reason why  _ any _ sensitive clone should not be allowed a lightsaber, to be quite honest. We can train them in the forms, and another saber wielder would be  _ invaluable _ on the front lines. In fact, they should be allowed full access to the Temple, though they are not entirely a part of our Order.”

“It’s settled, then,” Mace says, though he looks--not entirely pleased. “Master Yoda will select a group of Initiates to travel to Kamino with Master Ti for spying purposes, and the sensitive clones will be given access to the Temple.” He looks rather like he has swallowed something unpleasant, Plo decides.

“Thank you, Masters,” Skywalker says, and he  _ too _ looks like he’s swallowed something sour, but at least he has gotten most of his way. He usually does. He has allies among the Councillors, though he does not always see them.

“Need you, your men do,” Master Yoda says, almost admonishing, and Skywalker winces again. “Yell at us later, you can.”

“Are you giving me permission?”

“A fact, I am stating.”

Mace sighs wearily, says, “Skywalker, you’ll yell at us whether you have permission or not.”

That is certainly true. “You should go, Skywalker,” Plo agrees, leaning forward some. “You cannot expect little ‘Soka to manage everything for you.”

Skywalker winces for a third time, bows. “You are, of course, correct,” he says lightly, though his eyes are heavy. “I will debrief you on the full details of Umbara once I’ve gotten them from Rex.”

He bows again, turns on his heel, and leaves the chamber behind, without waiting for a response, though the stiffness to his movement and the set to his shoulders indicates he is entirely displeased. Obi-Wan sees it too, stands and says, “I had better go talk with him before he does something reckless,” which Plo does not think will stop Skywalker from doing  _ something reckless, _ if the Knight is so set on it--that is one trait he and little ‘Soka have in common that has only been  _ amplified _ by their bond.

Perhaps not the  _ best _ decision the Council has ever made, but then again--the Force certainly approves.

There is a soft hum from the Force, in response to that thought, and Plo smiles a bit settles back into his chair. Force willing, they are one step closer to unearthing Darth Sidious’ true identity and perhaps ending this entire war.

One step closer.

~~~

Rex stands in the hangar overseeing the transfer of patient and troops and equipment to their respective Coruscant facilities, Ahsoka standing at his side, holding his arm, and he can almost pretend this is normal. It is familiar enough, even with the addition of another battalion that has to be told the 501st’s standard process and protocol for these transfers. General Kenobi had gone ahead of them and cleared the halls on the path to the medbay, so as not to risk panicking any of the 607th’s wounded, and Rex’s men are getting settled back into the barracks. Although technically Je’kai is under his command now (that will be a tricky transition, and one he's going to have to handle carefully), Rex lets him give orders to the 607th and direct them as he would usually, unless Rex needs something done differently.

None of this really is normal; that's most evident looking at the 607th who, for all that they move with practised ease and efficiency, are  _ clearly  _ exhausted, half of them injured (most of those without reporting to the medic, it seems), all of them just a little too jumpy. Rex's own men, what's left of them, are doing their best, but Rex can see where they are unfocused, hasty, bordering on disorganized. He tunes in to the helmet frequencies for a moment and doesn't pick up nearly as much chatter as he usually does, after missions.

Anakin had  _ apparently _ stormed off to, in Ahsoka's words,  _ rip the Council a new one, probably,  _ and he's been gone for almost an hour; Rex has his men settled into the barracks and almost all the equipment replaced by the time Anakin gets back and marches into the barracks, grumbling to himself in Huttese. He makes a beeline for Rex and Ahsoka, not minding the few 607th  _ vode _ who scramble to come to attention and the rest who go very still.

Rex does not like that his own men freeze too, that he sees Dogma (in a corner, away from everyone; Rex is worried about him) shrink in on himself, clinging to his blaster.

“How did it go with the Council, Master?” Ahsoka asks,  _ perhaps _ just a touch smug. Rex smiles slightly and raises an eyebrow at Anakin, who just swears more vehemently in Huttese for a second.

“Kriffing  _ great,”  _ he grumbles. “Shaak Ti ‘didn't know’ they were killing the Force sensitives.” He does exaggerated finger quotes, scowling. Rex shouldn't want to laugh at that, but he does. “It's her job to know, kriffing- I know she was your hero when you were little, Snips, but  _ come on. _ And now we're planning to spy on them, which is good I  _ guess.  _ Oh, and Force-sensitive clones get to access training and shit now.  _ Great,  _ now everything's apparently supposed to be  _ fine.” _

Rex snorts, although- although actually, all of those things are great. It seems that Anakin is upset he didn't get more of an opportunity to yell at the Councillors. That or he just wants to be mad about things. Maybe both.

“It sounds like it went alright, sir,” he says lightly, controlling a grin at Anakin's response: more swearing and a violent shrug.

“Yeah, sure,” Anakin grumbles, and Ahsoka laughs.

“Come on, Master, that's good news. You can go yell at them later. And take me with you this time.” She crosses her arms, scowling lightly, and Rex shakes his head at her.

“I should,” Anakin mutters, then refocuses on Rex with a determined look that Rex does not entirely trust. “You're gonna have to debrief at some point, Rex.”

True. Rex nods once. He does not want to think about debriefing, or the campaign. He has more important matters to take care of, so why bother?

“You haven't told me  _ anything,”  _ Anakin says, insistent. “All I know about what happened is from Obi-Wan or karking  _ Krell,  _ Rex.”

Rex glances at Ahsoka, sees she's looking at him thoughtfully - and wondering. And he knew they'd want to know, but it still draws him back into tight control, where it's marginally easier to consider telling them.

“I apologize,” Rex says steadily, tired. “We were a little preoccupied.”

Anakin nods, understanding, waiting; when Rex does not say more than that, though, he frowns and runs a hand through his hair. “So... I want to know more about it, Rex,” he says, prompting. “I'm kind of in the dark, here. I can't do anything for the men if I don't  _ know  _ anything.”

Fair enough. And Rex knows they need to know. That isn't exactly the problem. It's that he doesn't  _ want  _ to muddle through telling them, he doesn't know how, he doesn't want to think about all of it, and in a strange way, he doesn't want them  _ knowing. _

There's a certain amount of safety in everything being  _ almost  _ normal, of Anakin and Ahsoka not knowing enough to look at him or his battalion any different (sure, they're worried now, but if he  _ tells  _ them, then it's all real).

But he does not, in actuality, have much of an option, so. “I know,” he says. “We shouldn't do this in the middle of the barracks, though, sir.” Bad enough he has to recount the whole thing; his men don't need to hear him do it.

~~~

Ahsoka loops her arm through Rex’s again, leans her head into his shoulder, as though maybe her closeness could ease his worry. It’s why she’d stayed with him instead of going after the Council with Anakin--she’s really not wholly certain she’s  _ helping _ at all, but at least if something goes wrong she’s  _ here. _

Where she  _ should have been, _ the whole time.

“Fair enough,” Anakin says, still feeling  _ grumpy, _ and he looks around for a minute before adding, “Let’s go someplace where we’re guaranteed privacy.”

Ahsoka picks up his planned destination off the top of his mind and nods, sends back  _ approval, _ pulls away just enough to take Rex’s hand. He squeezes her hand, just a little, but stays silent as Anakin leads them out of the barracks (and she notes how several of the 607th troopers still snap to attention when he walks by, how every single one of them still has all their armor on, how most of them look  _ afraid), _ back towards the Temple.

She doesn’t let go of his hand even when they enter the Temple itself, ignoring the way the Jedi they pass in the hallways look at them curiously or disdainfully or plain  _ confused; _ instead she holds tighter, stays a little closer, as they wend their way through the halls to Anakin’s and her rooms. Anakin keys the code in on the keypad, steps in, waves a hand at the small seating area.

“You two sit down, I’m gonna grab some caf.”  _ See if you can get him to relax a little, Snips? _

Ahsoka sends back assent, tugs Rex over to one of the comfy chairs, pushes him to sit down. “Helmet and gunbelt off,” she tells him sternly, and he complies, though he doesn’t look very happy about it.

As soon as he’s readjusted himself in the chair, she drops down to sit on his lap, her legs hooked over the arm of the chair, and she scoots back so she’s tucked against his chest with a sigh.

~~~

Rex sighs and fits an arm around Ahsoka's shoulders, partly so he doesn't start fidgeting. He can hear Anakin clattering around in an adjoining room, getting caf; Rex briefly considers asking for a cup of his own, but it's easier just to be quiet and let Ahsoka cuddle against him and try not to think about anything else.

Gods, he just wants to be in the barracks with his men.

He looks down, catches Ahsoka's eye; she looks considering, like she was staring at him again, and he smiles half-heartedly at her. She responds in kind, then reaches up and runs her fingers lightly along his cheekbone and into his hair. “I'm here,” she says, softly, and he tries to smile a little more, because he  _ is  _ grateful.

“I know,” he says, squeezing her shoulder.

And Anakin comes marching back in, balancing three too-full mugs of steaming caf, enough to draw a grin out of Rex and a laugh out of Ahsoka.

“You got those, sir?” Rex says, dryly.

“Shut up,” Anakin grumbles, easing over to them and passing a mug to Ahsoka and then another to Rex. As he finds his own seat, Rex slides his hands carefully around the mug, almost too hot against his skin, but the warmth is nice, in a way. Fortifying, he guesses. He takes a careful, scalding sip and pulls his arms in towards himself, considering what to say. Anakin and Ahsoka are both looking at him expectantly, and his hands tighten around his mug.

Sitrep: They are asking for a debriefing.

And it's his responsibility to give a complete debriefing of pertinent aspects of a campaign or mission to his CO upon its completion.

They want answers, details, so they can help his men.

So, whether he wants to talk about this or not, it's important for them to be informed. Especially if he doesn't want his Jedi terrifying the newest members of his battalion.

So.

“General Krell had us back on the march just after you left,” he says, flat. “I was introduced to Captain Je’kai by his number, which Je’kai said would make things ‘easier’ - if we stuck to numbers, I mean.” Predictably, Ahsoka and Anakin both scowl, darkly, and Rex smiles a little, grateful. “We marched for twelve hours, non-stop, before Kix asked me to ask General Krell if we could stop the men. I suggested to him we make camp, but he did not allow us to.” Rex explains the rest of the events up to the capture of the airbase in the same way: the change of plans, being so harried that they had to leave the wounded (he does not look at Ahsoka, when he says that, although she tightens her arms around him, and barely looks at Anakin), Hardcase and Fives capturing Umbaran starfighters to help them when they were pinned down.

He is partly grateful that they are quiet and just allowing him to talk, partly uncomfortable. He’s not really making eye contact anymore, so he doesn’t know what they’re thinking, and he doesn’t like that.

“I suggested a plan to General Krell besides his suicide march,” he says, has to stop himself from twisting his fingers too tight around his mug. “Fives and Jesse thought we should take the Umbaran fighters and blow up the supply ship. I agreed it could work. General Krell did not, refused to ‘waste the manpower.’ Fives and Jesse and Hardcase took the fighters anyway - Echo and I knew. We didn’t tell the general.” That would be considered treason, technically - except that the general himself is a traitor now, so they  _ should _ be clear of consequences now. “They were successful, blew the ship up, but Hardcase…” and there his voice fails him, some, cracks, and he takes just a second to  _ breathe.  _ “Hardcase had been killed.” Had sacrificed himself, Fives told him.

Anakin looks down, gripping his now-empty cup of caf so tight his knuckles go white, and Rex feels Ahsoka pull an arm from around his waist to settle her hand on his cheek. “I'm sorry,” she says, and he looks down at her and offers a smile and a nod.

“General Krell was not pleased; they had, technically, committed mutiny, so he locked them in the brig. He said he would have them court-martialed.

“A few hours before our assault, I asked him to reconsider court-martialing them, since their plan worked.” Rex grimaces. “He ordered me to have them executed immediately, before their actions could inspire further insubordination.” He hesitates, runs his thumb along the rim of his mug. “He had destroyed Brii’s sketchbook, before all that. And Captain Je’kai told me some things - I promised Brii I wouldn't let him do anything else to them. So I refused.”

“Good,” Anakin growls, cold, his blue eyes frosted over with ice.

Ahsoka shifts, cuddles into his side, holds on  _ tight  _ to him.

He takes a deep breath. “Krell let it go. I think because as long as I listened to him, so would the 501st - if I didn't, they wouldn't.” There's something that feels dangerous about stating, to his superiors, that his men are that loyal to him. That they would all disobey a general if he said the word. And sure, this is  _ General Skywalker _ and  _ his Commander,  _ but still, it feels like a risk. “He got a comm from a scout, while I was there. That there was an Umbaran force near the base that had taken clone armor and weapons, would be using them to ambush us, so he sent us out to fight.”  _ Breathe.  _ “We came across an opposing force, like the scout said, and engaged them - we had heavy casualties, so did they, took me a while” -  _ too long _ \- “to figure out what was going on. Krell had commed the 212th with the same report: that there was an Umbaran force with clone armor near the airbase. Cody sent Waxer and Ghost Company, and they attacked us based on the false intel. Waxer was killed.” His brother, Cody’s friend, with a tiny portrait of a Twi’lek child on his helmet, stares up at him, says,  _ but it was you, _ a tear turned red in the glow of Umbara’s only light. He doesn't linger on that, doesn't look up from his hands, although Anakin swears softly and Ahsoka runs her hand up and down his back.

“I decided to arrest General Krell. He'd clearly betrayed us. We marched on the airbase again and fought him; as close as I can figure it, he killed some twenty or thirty brothers before-” he hesitates, but General Skywalker knows already anyway, so: “before Kix stole one of his sabers off his belt.” His  _ vod’s  _ back and armor crack horribly loud, but don't echo so much as his scream, and Rex can't  _ do anything _ but Kix, it seems, can. “Kix fought him, stunned him. We brought him and the dead and wounded back and locked him up. And… and Dogma. Dogma had tried to stop us from going after Krell. We questioned Krell and set up patrols because we heard there was another attack coming. That's when General Kenobi arrived with the 212th.”

And there it is. All of it, except for what he wants to tell them about the 607th. But he saves that, for a moment, sips what's left of his caf and draws up walls and boundaries around his memories, tucks back what he couldn't contain. The worst of that is done, then. The debriefing.

Except for the Council. He suspects they will expect a debriefing too.

At least for that, he will be able to wear his helmet, will be explaining to people who will not ask him for personal details he wants to keep to himself.

~~~

Rex falls silent and Ahsoka doesn’t even know what to do or  _ say _ in response to all this. She just keeps running her hand up and down his back in the hopes that maybe it will  _ help, _ because he--he isn’t talking at  _ all _ about how all this made him  _ feel _ but he’s so tense and tight and she  _ knows _ he’s got to be hurting.

It seems Anakin  _ does _ know what to say, though, because he growls out, “I wish there was a way to resurrect Krell, so I could kill him  _ myself.” _

She doesn’t think that’s particularly  _ helpful, _ but whatever, Anakin. She does happen to agree with the sentiment. Instead, she focuses on the  _ least bad _ of those statements. “Kix fought Krell?”

_ Hells, _ if Kix could steal one of Krell’s heavy, huge double-bladed sabers and not only fight with it but  _ win, _ then they  _ definitely _ need to find a way to get him a saber that fits him. She looks up at Rex, curious.

Rex smiles small and fierce, says, “Yeah. Held his own just fine.”

Hells. “That’s impressive,” she manages, looks over at Anakin to see him nodding thoughtfully, though he still looks  _ annoyed. _

“Yeah,” her Master agrees. “Council agreed the sensitive clones could have sabers, so we should figure out a way to get him one.” And then he sighs, says, “Thank you for telling me, Rex, I’ll--have to think about it all, figure out what the kriff to do now. Unless there’s anything else you want to tell me, I’ll let the two of you go…?”

~~~

“Actually,” Rex says quickly. “I… need you two to understand some things. About the 607th.”

Anakin settles back more comfortably in his chair, sets down his mug - there are some dents in it from his mech hand. Rex wishes he could find that funny. “Okay,” he says.

Rex doesn't quite know how to describe what he's learned about the 607th, how to explain the flinching and the  _ feeling  _ their men give him, and how to make all the tiny pieces of information make sense to them so that they understand. The easiest way will be to tell them about Je’kai - he hopes Je’kai will forgive him for this.

“You know that Krell destroyed Brii’s sketchbook,” Rex says, sighing. They both nod, angry. “I think he did it because Brii said it was  _ his _ sketchbook.”

He rubs his hands together, remembers Naas crying so hard, his name being  _ nothing, _ Je’kai saying that Krell threatened to leave their  _ vod’ika  _ to die. “When he introduced me to Je’kai, Je’kai said it would be easier if we were just numbers - not people - around Krell. He and his men were injured, but almost none of them went to Kix and their medic didn't set up in the medbay. Je’kai… Je’kai told me that once they were on Hoth without proper gear and Krell threatened to abandon one of the troopers for making too much noise. Pulled his saber. Je’kai got in the way and that's what his scar is from - he didn't get medical treatment till after that campaign ended.”

Ahsoka looks  _ sick. _ Rex no longer has the  _ energy  _ to feel that way about it. The shock’s worn off, and now it's just a painful fact. He pushes on in the numb silence.

“When Fives and I called you, Je’kai didn't want us to, because he tried calling the Jedi once. Krell caught him and a squad, trying it, and he killed one of them, reconditioned nine others, and left Je’kai as a warning. He and the others don't like to be touched. You heard Krell when we questioned him, how he talked to Je’kai. I was led to believe that was normal for them. They are not… I can't have either of you just waltzing into my barracks unannounced anymore.” He isn't sure he should dictate to the two of them, but he needs to be sure he's done everything he can to help his men. “Especially not you, General Skywalker. Like I said, ‘Soka, none of the yelling, no- I just need you to be  _ calm,  _ around them.” He doesn't tell her here, but… but he can't have Ahsoka sleeping in the barracks anymore. Because his men won't sleep, if she does.

“I just need you to understand,” he says, heavily, and he properly meets both of their eyes. “They're  _ afraid of you. _ And that’s not going to change unless you’re  _ careful.” _

He doesn’t know how he’s going to manage his battalion on  _ campaigns. _ He doesn’t want to let any of them fight again for a long time, although he knows they’ve been fighting as it is and can probably manage again. They just… should not have to.

Anakin shifts in his chair, tense, and says, “But I’d- we’d never hurt them like that, Rex.”

“I know,” Rex says, putting his empty mug down on the floor by his and ‘Soka’s chair. “But that… doesn’t matter to them right now, sir- Or I guess they just don’t  _ know  _ that. You’re not safe, to them.”

“I understand,” Anakin says, low, swallowing. Rex looks down, because Anakin looks  _ pained,  _ and that is hard.

“That… was all, sir,” Rex says, nudging Ahsoka’s shoulder until she scoots (very irritably) off his lap so he can stand, retrieve his mug and hand it to Anakin. “Thanks for the caf. I should- The men are just getting used to the barracks, I have things to sort out.”

“Right.” Anakin nods, quickly, and takes both his and Ahsoka’s cups and walks them to the door of his quarters. He seems oddly unsure of himself, and Rex doesn’t know what to do with that. He decides to let it go, just tugs his helmet back on and buckles on his gunbelt once the door closes behind them.

“Is the Council going to debrief you, too?” Rex asks, neutral, looking down at Ahsoka the way that doesn’t  _ quite  _ seem like he’s looking at her (as a joke, sort of; of course she knows he is).

~~~

Ahsoka shugs, tries to push away the sick horror still rushing through her thoughts from all the  _ information. _ Smiles a little up at Rex, deliberately catching his eyes instead of looking where his helmet appears he is. “We never actually… finished our mission for the Chancellor,” she admits, sighing. “As soon as we got Fives’ comm we abandoned it. You--the battalion, I mean--are more important than some mission Palpatine  _ had _ to call us off the front for.”

Rex tilts his head a little, and she wishes he’d take his damn helmet off so she could see his face. “What did the Chancellor need?”

“He had us on the trail of a bounty hunter that was trying to kill him, hired by some crime boss.” She shrugs again. “Nothing that couldn’t’ve been handled by one of the  _ many _ Jedi who  _ weren’t _ in the middle of one of the largest planetary invasions of the war thus far.” She makes a face, sighs again, says, “I don’t really understand why he needed  _ us, _ or why he thought pulling us off the front was a  _ good idea, _ even if only because it deprived the assault on Umbara of two Jedi, and we’re short on Jedi anyway. It almost makes me wonder if he had some other reason for wanting  _ us, _ specifically.”

Rex shrugs. “He trusts General Skywalker, I think. And he  _ was _ almost assassinated. He can ask for whoever he wants, and you two are the best.” Even through his helmet, he sounds so  _ tired. _

Ahsoka tries for something like a laughing smile, says, “Well, good to know you think so highly of us, Rexter,” but it falls flat and she sighs, wraps her arms around him and hugs him tight. “I’m--I should have been there,” she whispers. “I’m  _ sorry.” _

“Don’t apologize,” he says, very quiet.

She has to bite back another apology.

_ Hardcase had been killed. _

She remembers laughing about Hardcase’s grenade collection, remembers him shy and stammering as he handed her a delicate little thing all of gears and metal and wire that spins and whirrs, telling her that  _ the Captain ordered me not to give you grenades, so I made you this instead, Commander. _ Hardcase. Always good for a laugh if you weren’t feeling so great… always attempting to imitate Anakin (she’d laughed so  _ hard _ at some of the stories they’d told her, about the things Hardcase had tried to do with the justification that he  _ saw General Skywalker do it that one time). _

Force.

“I’m sorry about Hardcase, really,” she says, quiet, and then sighs and pulls back a bit. “I wanna talk to you about all that stuff, Rex.”

“Thanks,” he says, low, pauses. “Right now?”

She swallows. “I thought… maybe we could go to the barracks, or somewhere, I don’t know--you aren’t alright, though, Rex, and I want--I want to help.”

~~~

“I’m managing,” Rex says, tightly, shifting his weight a little. “I appreciate it, ‘Soka, but I have to- With the 607th becoming part of the 501st, I have to sort out the chain of command, and I have to get Fives to go to the medbay and some of the rest of the 607th, too, if I can - now isn’t the best time to talk.”

“I’ll come with you,” Ahsoka answers, and Rex hesitates. He doesn’t entirely know how he’s going to handle his Jedi coming to the barracks - mostly, Ahsoka is the problem. She liked coming to the barracks to chat with his brothers even before she was his  _ cyar’ika. _ But he’s not sure she should just come in and hang out, doesn’t really know  _ what to do. _

He can try, anyway, but, “Okay. But I… You’ve been sleeping in the barracks, ‘Soka, but I don’t think you should do that for a while.” He doesn’t  _ like that,  _ isn’t sure if- His nightmares will be worse, he thinks, if she’s not there. But his  _ vode  _ come first, so.

“I don’t- Why?” He wishes she didn’t sound so  _ hurt,  _ and anxious. “Do you not… want me there, anymore?”

“It isn’t  _ like that.  _ Of course I want you there. But I told you, my men are scared. They won’t be able to sleep, if you’re there.” Rex can make himself sleep without her there. He’s not sure they can make themselves sleep with her there.

She looks down. “What about you?”

“I’ll manage,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He’ll be fine. And then she can’t scold him for not wanting to sleep, which is a bit of an amusing thought. “I know how much sleep I need.” Exactly how much it takes him to function well.

Ahsoka sighs, reaches for his hand and threads her fingers through his. “Just… don’t be stupid. And comm me if you have nightmares, please. I’ll come.”

Rex thinks he’s been having nightmares since Umbara, awake or asleep. They’re just worse, asleep. He shrugs, nods, smiles at her although she can’t see it. “Just… In the barracks, please be careful.” He knows she will be, but it can’t hurt to say it.

She nods, says, “I will,” and he squeezes her hand because he doesn’t want her worrying about him. That will do neither of them any good.

It happened. He has to deal with the fallout. Thinking about it more than necessary will only hurt, so he won’t think about it.

Simple.

~~~

Je’kai sits on a bunk in the 501st’s assigned barracks, watching the controlled chaos around him appraisingly.

Somehow, they’re going to have to figure out what to do with the chain of command structure, now; he knows he will not be allowed to remain Captain. He can only hope he will still have some manner of ability to protect his men, from their new General and Commander if need be (he does not think there will be a need; he thinks the Commander is--somewhat safe, and the General  _ understands, _ more than a Jedi should be able to). He doesn’t feel a need to be in  _ command, _ though he has been giving orders for long enough now it’s instinctive; he just wants to be able to protect them. His  _ vod’ike. _

He has his armor on again, all of it (with the new blue stripes Brii had insisted he paint), except for his bucket tucked under his arm. He is not  _ supposed _ to have his armor on. Tuck would scold.

Beten would possibly, as well, but Beten is busy using his newly-replenished supplies to tend to the injured who aren’t seriously injured enough to go to the medbay, and so the medic isn’t paying attention. And Tuck and the other medics of the 501st, as well as Scratch from the 212th, are all in the medbay, so really, there is no concern.

Je’kai pushes himself to his feet, paces back and forth a minute, then sighs and starts making rounds of the barracks. The ARC trooper, Fives, is doing the same thing: keeping an eye on the  _ vode, _ making sure they’re settling in without problems, offering a shoulder or an ear where needed.

(He should not be walking. He has not slept, and he  _ hurts, _ and the painkillers wore off long ago. But his men need him and he is not seriously injured, so he will be fine. He thinks Fives feels the same way.)

~~~

Kix feels like, on some level, he has no idea what's going on anymore. He has so many patients, so much happening, and now the Force is so  _ incessant,  _ like a fly around his ear, almost, and it won’t go away. And with that comes  _ pain,  _ the pains and fears of all his patients, especially the 607th’s troopers.

He’s still paying enough attention to take a hint from Captain Rex and notice kriffing  _ Fives and Je’kai _ limping around the barracks like a pair of shot mynocks, damn  _ idiots  _ can’t listen to him, apparently. So Kix marches in their direction, draws himself up, and,  _ “Fives!” _

To his credit, Fives  _ immediately  _ comes to a stop, turns around (is not apologetic enough at all), smiles at Kix. “Yeah?”

“You  _ shabuir, _ what the  _ kriff  _ are you doing?” Kix twists and fixes a glare on the 607th’s (former?) Captain. “And  _ you.  _ Je’kai, right? Get your ass over here  _ now.” _

Je’kai frowns, starts slowly towards him, and Kix rounds on Fives again, glaring. Fives rubs his goatee, glances around for a second, then says, “Kix, I was fine, I’m-”

No, Kix is  _ not in the mood. _ “Banthashit.  _ Ne’johaa.” _

Fives gapes at him, a little, then crosses his arms and shakes his head. “I wasn’t  _ trying _ to ignore it, Kix.”

Unbelievable. Je’kai has  _ finally  _ made his slow-ass way over, and Kix turns to give  _ him _ an icy stare too. “And  _ you. _ You’re supposed to be in bed.  _ No armor. _ You have broken ribs,  _ di’kut. _ Both of you are coming to the medbay with me  _ right kriffing now.” _

“Kix, we’re coming, you can calm-”

“Fives, one more  _ karking  _ word out of you and I’m gonna get Rex to give you  _ so much  _ KP when you’re better.”

Fives flips him off but shuts his mouth. Good.

“I’ll be fine,” Je’kai says. Stubborn idiot. All the  _ damn _ 607th troopers are giving him a literal headache. “I need to stay here.”

Kix smiles lightly at him,  _ done.  _ “Je’kai,  _ vod, _ if you don’t  _ karking listen to me _ I will stun you and drag you to the medbay myself. Are we clear?” And he  _ will. _ He’s sick of all of them pretending to be fine, and sick of them not letting him treat them, and sick of his own  _ men  _ making it harder for him by not showing up -  _ Fives -  _ and sick of the Force telling him they  _ hurt.  _ He karking  _ knows it,  _ he doesn’t need to  _ feel it _ all the _ damn  _ time!

“Look,  _ vod,”  _ Je’kai says, raising his hands, placatingly, and Kix needs him to just. Listen.  _ Force. _ “If they panic, I need to be here. You don’t understand. And I’m hardly injured badly enough that Beten can’t help me here.”

Kix is so- he  _ hates  _ that answer. Beten is… Beten is fine, but he is like the rest of his battalion, all twisted, and, and, he doesn’t know. But they won’t  _ listen  _ and let him  _ help. _

“You can only be so much help to anyone with karking broken ribs, Je’kai, that hurts to  _ breathe. _ For kriff’s sake just shut up and move your ass.”

Fives has apparently decided to stave off any further frustration from Kix and is already booking it in the direction of the medbay (limping much more now, kark it), and Kix sees Jesse hurrying their way, but he focuses on the problem at hand. Which is Je’kai.

Who is scowling, tired, and snaps, “I know it karking hurts, but I’m not dying and I’m not  _ going _ to, so kriffing spend your time on patients who need you.” He rubs wearily at his eyes and Kix is. Kix is  _ sick of them _ and the way they think they’re only supposed to take his time if they’re karking dying, it isn’t  _ right.  _ How’s he supposed to kriffing help if they won’t  _ let him? _ The Force is still telling him  _ pain,  _ and  _ heal them, little one,  _ and he knows, he knows. He just wants it to  _ shut up,  _ he’s trying his best.

Kix shoves his hand through his hair fast, fingers shaking, struggles for an answer to  _ that _ that isn’t just incoherent swearing. He’s so- He doesn’t-

And then Jesse is weaving around Je’kai, with that concerned glare that means someone (usually Kix himself) is in trouble, and Kix lets Jesse put both arms around his shoulders and pull him close.

“You dumbass,” Jesse says, calmly, and Kix closes his eyes so none of the tears that suddenly rush hot to his eyes have a chance to fall. “Je’kai, _vod,_ _please_ just get to the medbay.”

~~~

Je’kai is frozen, just behind Jesse (who is only wearing his lower body armor, the kriff), hands still half-raised in an attempt to placate the exhausted, apparently emotionally-distraught medic.  _ Gods, _ Je’kai wants--he is reminded of Beten, when Beten was young. (Their first medic had gotten killed off attempting to get wounded off the battlefield, and Beten had been the replacement. He’d been a--medic in training under Jahaal, had been  _ young, _ had not understood that  _ this is how it goes.) _ Je’kai swallows hard, steps around Jesse carefully, reaches out and settles a hand on Kix’s shoulder, cautious.

“I am sorry,  _ vod,” _ he says, low. “We are not--” and he stops, shakes his head. Nods once at Jesse. “He should rest,” he says carefully. “It will help.”

And then he swallows, grits his teeth, takes a deep breath  _ (gods, _ that was a mistake, everything  _ burns _ now), and starts for the medbay, careful and controlled. 

He does not want to go.

He is  _ fine, _ or at least mostly fine--yes, he hurts. But his men  _ need him. _

But he thinks--he thinks Kix will not be okay, if he tries to stay. And he--is not adverse to the idea of  _ painkillers, _ it is just--leaving his men. And being vulnerable. And--taking time to get treatment was not something Krell approved of. So it is hard. But.

He will do this, for his  _ vod _ who is on the verge of tears.

Je’kai has broken down from sheer overwhelmed exhaustion before, when he was a new Captain and he’d been trying to do casualty reports before sleeping, like a good Captain, except it had been days and he was so  _ tired _ and there were so  _ many _ and--

Not now.  _ Gods, _ not now.

He pulls himself straighter, tighter, locks everything  _ down _ where he can’t feel it, including the pain from his ribs, and he walks into the medbay breathing easy and standing tall.

He does not expect to fool anyone, least of all Scratch, who catches sight of him and looks  _ furious-- _ right. The armor.  _ Gods. _

“What the karking  _ hells _ do you think you’re doing, Captain?” Scratch snaps out, coming over, and Je’kai grits his teeth and tries not to step back. Do they  _ have _ to come at him like those gods-damned wolves Naas had liked so much? All snarling and hair standing on end and snapping, and  _ kriffing hells. _

“Kix sent me,” Je’kai says mildly, glances around for Fives--there’s something comforting about knowing he’s not the only target of the medic’s ire--but the ARC trooper, it seems, has been accosted by one of the 501st medics (not Tuck, another one Je’kai does not know) and has left Je’kai to fend for himself.

Thank you ever so much,  _ vod. _

“By all the--of  _ course _ you karking did,” and Scratch is even  _ angrier _ than he’d been before. Perhaps not having Commander Cody around has a destabilizing effect. “You--what part of  _ no armor _ didn’t you understand?”

“The part,” Je’kai says, very calm, enunciating every word sharply, “where that is  _ against regs _ and not something I feel  _ comfortable with, _ no matter who is the Jedi in charge now.”

Scratch swears, sharply, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment, growls out, “Just get on a damned bunk and get your armor off,  _ please, _ I can’t deal with this shit right now.”

And Scratch also sounds like he is not far from his own overwhelmed meltdown of sorts, so Je’kai acquiesces with a tired sigh, takes the bunk next to Fives and starts pulling his armor off a piece at a time. This is almost too  _ much, _ he thinks, but--but not quite. He keeps it all locked  _ down, tight, _ and wills his hands not to shake.

This is fine. He is fine. They are safe.

~~~

Jesse hovers at Kix’s shoulder the whole way to the medbay, a hand on his back whenever he thinks his  _ ori’vod  _ needs it. Kix has at least calmed a little, now, although he also just looks unutterably  _ exhausted. _

Jesse remembers when this happened a lot more often, when they were both young and Kix was newly a senior medic and he would come to Jesse crying after most battles, saying  _ I couldn't save them, Jesse, I keep trying and it never works and I always lose so many.  _ And Jesse had not known what to say, for a long time. And then he had learned, on his own, that sometimes  _ you can't save them all,  _ so he told Kix  _ just save the one in front of you, one at a time.  _ They both did that, for a time. Now, Jesse thinks, “You just have to help whoever will let you,” and Kix turns to look at him, eyes searching, a question there that Jesse has never known how to answer but that he now always tries to. “Anyone you can, and let go of the ones you can't.”

“But that's so  _ many,”  _ Kix says.

Yes. And Jesse knows his  _ ori’vod  _ has not forgotten the wounded he had to leave behind, that Rex  _ ordered  _ him to, and Jesse is grateful once again that he is not Captain anymore. Grateful again that those calls are not his to make, because the way Kix is looking at him - he doesn't know if he could live with himself if he were the cause of that.

“But a lot of them let you help them.” Jesse sighs and pats Kix’s shoulder. “I didn't say that was easy. Just better.”

Kix nods, and the two of them walk into his medbay, into the carefully curated chaos and clamor that is junior medics bustling around with supplies, patients being carted to other rooms to await surgery (Scratch is a wizard surgeon, apparently, better even than Kix), and basic medical procedures being performed on  _ dozens  _ of wounded.

Jesse does not like the medbay, but he stays with Kix anyway because his brother needs him. It helps that they go straight to what turns out to be Je’kai’s bunk; nothing gruesome here, thank the little gods. Je’kai is in just his blacks, and Jesse can tell he  _ hates  _ that. Poor dumb  _ vod.  _ Kix pulls a genuine smile out of  _ somewhere _ (Jesse has never figured out how the kriff he does it) and says, “Je’kai, I'm sorry I lost my temper. Let's look at those ribs so we can get you back to your  _ vode  _ as soon as possible, sound good?”

Je’kai nods, and Jesse thinks this  _ vod’s  _ face is nearly as hard to read as Commander Cody’s. Although no one in the 501st or the 212th have ever found anyone besides General Kenobi who was harder to read than Cody. They're trying, but so far no luck. “You don't have to apologize. We've all been there. And… That would be appreciated.  _ Vor’e.” _ Kix inclines his head, pulling on a pair of gloves and grabbing painkillers and a bunch of other supplies that Jesse keeps forgetting the names of.

Then Kix hesitates, takes a small step back from Je’kai’s bunk and says, very calm and quiet  _ (this  _ is where Kix is best, Jesse thinks, with their  _ vode,  _ helping them be calm - although he supposes he's never seen Kix in surgery), “Je’kai, I'm going to need you to take your shirt off so I can get a better look at your ribs.”

Je’kai goes  _ tense,  _ straightens, his eyes going wary. Jesse thinks he looks like a cornered rabbit, if he's honest. “Is that necessary?” he asks, quiet.

Kix has his hands at his sides, and Jesse sees him tapping his thumb and first finger together - Kix does not like leaving his hands idle, but Jesse knows it's probably better for Je’kai that Kix’s hands are visible and  _ still. _ “If I'm going to help, yes,” Kix says, very gentle, and Jesse feels suddenly  _ very  _ calm. He knows the feeling; it's how he always feels when Kix helps him when he's overwhelmed, it's like when General Kenobi is trying to calm everyone down - wait a second.

His  _ stupid ori’vod  _ has been using the Force to calm him down. For like, a  _ year. _ Damn him. Also Jesse's probably grateful. But  _ stupid  _ Kix with his dumb hang-ups has still been trying to help him, and sometimes Jesse isn't sure whether to hug or punch him. This is one of those times.

~~~

Je’kai takes a slow breath in, thinks maybe he should be a little--more worried about this. He was worried, a minute ago, wasn’t he? He frowns, shifts a little, but  _ calm _ something whispers and so he is.

Even though that doesn’t feel quite right.

“Alright,” he says, and then he grits his teeth (because moving his arms like that  _ hurts, _ actually) and pulls his shirt careful over his head.

_ Gods, _ he doesn’t like being so--vulnerable.

There are five ropey lines slashing diagonal across his chest, from a wolf attack on Ilum (and Naas calms the wolf, calls it away, shrugs and says  _ animals like me, _ and Je’kai begins to worry)--they would not have scarred so badly had he been able to get bacta on them, but. He doesn’t mind the scars.

What he  _ does _ mind is the mottled green-yellow-black bruising spreading over his entire left side. Well. That would explain a few things. He swears under his breath, says, dryly, “That would be why I’m sore.”

“You don’t say,” Kix answers, in the same wry tone, steps carefully closer. “I need to feel your ribs to see what’s wrong. Is that okay?”

_ No, _ it is not okay. But the  _ calm _ is back, and so Je’kai grits his teeth and nods, holds himself very very still and very very tense as the medic runs his hands carefully over his side.  _ Gods, _ that hurts, wow, and he hisses a bit and clenches his fist around his shirt, sucks in a sharp breath through his mouth. This is fine, put the pain away-- _ ah, gods, _ Kix probes a tender spot and Je’kai has to swallow back a noise. 

“I know,” Kix soothes, stills his hands for a moment. “I have to find where the breaks are, and that means I have to poke things.”

Yes, Je’kai  _ knows that. _ It  _ hurts, gods, _ this is part of why he doesn’t like going to the medbay--and then something washes cool and light and tingling over his skin, easing the pain,  _ shifting _ things, that same itching feeling he remembers from when General Kenobi tried to help. And  _ gods, _ but that feels so much  _ better, _ and he lets out a long breath, relaxes a little.  _ Hells. _

Maybe he’s been in more pain than he’d realized.

“What happened?” Kix asks, and Je’kai sighs.

“One of those damned Umbaran tanks, got caught underneath,” he says, vaguely annoyed still. Karking things. “Rocket launchers worked, but I got in the way. Naas pulled me out.”

~~~

Kix wants to bury his face in his hands, but he keeps feeling at Je’kai’s ribs, listens to the Force humming  _ help here, and here, and here,  _ pointing more injuries out to him. “And that was not enough to warrant a visit to the medbay?” he asks, very calmly, clarifying. Jesse sets a hand on his shoulder, from where he's talking to Fives.

“If you can fight, you don't waste time going to the medbay. If you can't fight on the battlefield you get left behind. So no, it wasn't enough.”

“I see,” Kix says, neutral, ignores a tiny hissed inhale as he finds an especially tender area, and the Force says  _ help here,  _ and Kix says  _ okay _ and oh.

When he says that, the Force  _ shifts,  _ as it has been doing for a while, he realizes, and the break and the bruise both feel  _ better. _ He experiments with that, thinks  _ here?  _ and there's a hum and it gets even  _ better. _

He doesn't mean to, but he  _ laughs,  _ grins, reaches for the feel of the Force and says,  _ Please fix it? _

The Force feels like it's laughing back at him, and then Kix feels  _ warmth  _ in his fingers, easing through the ribs and damaged skin, and oh. This is… He smiles, excitedly, and reaches more, pulls the light and healing and warmth and slides the worst breaks back into place, finds he can seal together  _ bones  _ and soothe bruises and it's all  _ fixing,  _ little gods!

And then there's no more in the ribs to fix, but Kix can feel a pulse of pain from Fives and his  _ wrenched hip,  _ the Force tells him, and he could fix that too, so he straightens - and the world  _ spins,  _ doesn't settle right, and he becomes aware of a pounding headache. Shit.

Jesse grabs his shoulder and he realizes he's swaying, and he shakes his head, presses his fingers to his temple. “Ow,” he says.

“You good,  _ ori’vod?”  _ Jesse says.

Kix tries asking for the Force again and the pain in his head doubles, and he thinks he hears the Force (sounds like Rex, a little, but calmer, and  _ ancient) _ say,  _ Not wise to ask for more, little one. _

Okay, weird. Ow.

“How's that?” Kix asks Je’kai. He's not sure if his eyes having trouble focusing explains the apparent lack of bruises on Je’kai’s torso or if he really fixed it all. It would definitely be better if he had fixed it all. For some reason Jesse is still hanging onto his shoulder.

“You should sit down before you  _ fall  _ down,” Je’kai tells him, which is not an answer.

Kix is  _ not  _ in danger of falling down, and he asked a  _ question.  _ “I'm not going to  _ fall,”  _ he says, hears Fives and Jesse snort. The kriff? “Zero to ten, Je’kai?” His pain scale. He always asks, if he isn't sure.

Je’kai gives him a somewhat incredulous look. “It doesn't hurt anymore. And you  _ are  _ going to fall.”

_ No,  _ Kix is  _ not.  _ Although his head really hurts, gods. And he can't focus, apparently. Which probably means exhaustion, only he wasn't this tired before. “I will  _ not,”  _ he grumbles, pushes Jesse's hand off his shoulder only  _ Force,  _ that makes him unsteady. He feels dizzy. That's a bad sign. He should sit down, damnit, Je’kai was right - he does not  _ like  _ when his patients boss him around.  _ Fives. _ He sighs and walks as steadily as he can manage away from Jesse, grabs a plastoid chair, has to lean against the back of it before Jesse swears, grabs his arm and holds on till he sits down successfully.

That helps. Some.  _ Force. _

~~~

Jesse has been telling his  _ ori’vod _ for  _ years _ that Kix should learn Force healing; his  _ vod _ has always pushed the Force away,  _ down, _ where it won’t be  _ felt, _ but Jesse has always thought that if  _ General Kenobi, _ who isn’t even a  _ medic, _ can be so good at healing, how much better could  _ Kix _ be? Kix, who loves healing and saving and fixing people (and Jesse  _ sorta _ understands that, but  _ little gods, _ medical work is disgusting), who has spent his whole life devouring every scrap of information related to field medicine that he could find--how much  _ better _ of a medic could he be, with the Force?

But Kix has always,  _ always _ refused to use the Force, except for those little moments, accidents, because the threat of  _ termination _ is not something his  _ ori’vod _ is willing to risk.

Jesse understands that, to an extent. Jesse does not want Kix to be terminated, either. But Kix had  _ laughed, _ and Jesse thinks--he think the healing makes things  _ better, _ or at least less  _ bad. _

Kix had told him once, what it felt like--he’d accidentally let the Force out a little bit and he’d said he could  _ feel it, _ all of it, the pain. Jesse thinks that’s what Kix is feeling right now--that’s why Kix had only slept a couple hours, while on the hyperspace flight back. Because of everyone’s  _ pain. _

But  _ little gods, _ Kix didn’t have to--hells.

Kix is slumped in the plastoid chair, fingers pressing against his temples, and Jesse swallows and waves Scratch over--he could have Sniper help, but Sniper is working on Fives’ leg and Jesse doesn’t want to interrupt. Scratch brings painkillers and a cup of water with him, snaps, “What the  _ kriff?” _

“I think he used the Force,” Jesse says. “On Je’kai’s ribs.”

Scratch looks  _ harried _ and  _ exhausted _ beyond belief. “Just what I karking need,” he growls out, “another gods-damned Jedi overextending himself. Make him take these and lay  _ down, _ the only thing that cures the headache is rest. If he won’t do it have someone sedate him. I’ve got surgeries to go do.”

Jesse thinks Scratch should go the kriff to sleep for a while, but he nods anyway, takes the painkillers and the water, nudges Kix’s shoulder. “Hey,  _ ori’vod, _ you should take these,” he says, holding them out.

Kix does, after a moment. He still looks too-pale and his eyes are unfocused and vague and he’s shaky, but he swallows the pills and finishes the water and scowls a little. Opens his mouth like he’s going to say something.

Jesse doesn’t give him the chance.

“You heard Scratch,” he says casually, slips an arm beneath Kix’s shoulders and  _ hauls _ him bodily out of the chair; ignoring his weak protests, Jesse walks his  _ ori’vod _ over to the nearest bunk and sits him back down again. Says, “Are you gonna sleep with your armor on or off,  _ vod?” _

“Jesse, I don’t need to--”

“Banthashit.” Jesse smiles, a little fierce, because for  _ once _ he gets to boss Kix around. “Besides, Kix, when it comes to the health of the men, doesn’t the medic outrank everyone?”

Kix gapes a little, and Jesse snorts and starts pulling off the pieces of his upper body armor, says, “Halfsies it is, since you wouldn’t answer my question.”

_ “Hey!” _ Kix  _ glares, _ sputters a bit, and then huffs. “Wait, no. All of it, then, if you’re gonna be an  _ ass.” _

_ Technically, _ Jesse is just redirecting Kix’s ass-ness back at him, but whatever. He pulls off the armor piece by piece, stacks it neatly, says conversationally, “You know, Scratch gave me permission to  _ sedate you _ if you don’t go to sleep. Which you probably don’t want, you know how I am about needles.”

Jesse  _ really hates _ needles.

“Little gods,” Kix groans dramatically, but he sighs and lays down, says, “Fine, I get the point.”

Scratch called Kix a  _ Jedi. _ Put him in the same category as  _ Kenobi. _ Jesse thinks Kix would be more insulted by that, if he’d been paying attention.

But hey. Honestly, Scratch is  _ probably _ right.

Kix lets out a soft sigh and closes his eyes, and Jesse smiles a little at his  _ ori’vod, _ pulls up the plastoid chair and settles down in it, prepares himself to watch over Kix until his  _ vod _ wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a translations:**
> 
> _shabuir:_ an extreme insult--like 'jerk', but much stronger.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello lovelies! back again with just a little note about the word _ustura:_ (plural _usturae_ ) it is a Latin word meaning "burning", and it's our own creation. we have lots of lore for it, as well. if you're interested in writing about it, we would love to talk with you about that, but please ask permission first!

Naas still does not take his armor off.

Brii keeps trying to talk him into it, into at least losing the upper body pieces, but Naas  _ will not. _ He has stopped wearing his gloves and gauntlets all the time, but somehow that isn't good enough for Brii. Brii seems to think that Naas should walk around in  _ just  _ his lower body armor all the time, without even a  _ gunbelt, _ like Brii does, and Naas is  _ not  _ going to do that. No. Regs say you wear armor  _ all the time _ unless you’re on leave. And they’re  _ not. _ So. Armor.

But when he sits with Brii, he kind of wishes he could. Brii makes everything look  _ easy,  _ comfortable, even when he’s being  _ odd. _ Like when he says General Skywalker is  _ stupid. _ You don’t.  _ Don’t.  _ Say that about a General.

Brii is drawing, as  _ usual,  _ although he has not let Naas see this drawing. He got his sketchbook from General Skywalker already; Captain Rex hasn’t gotten one. Maybe because clones aren’t allowed to have credits, so Naas- is not sure, how Rex intends to just  _ get one. _

But, well, this battalion… does things that are- weird.

And not right.

He shifts, tries again to peer over top of Brii’s sketchbook, and Brii pulls it away so he can’t see. “Stop it,  _ vod,”  _ Brii grumbles. He draws  _ so fast,  _ Naas doesn’t understand  _ how. _

It’s so  _ cool. _

“The General really bought that for you?” Naas asks, not for the first time. Because Generals don’t  _ do that.  _ Don’t… don’t get gifts. For  _ clones. _

Why would  _ anybody  _ get them things?

They don’t get to  _ have _ things.

So Brii’s sketchbook  _ (Brii’s)  _ doesn’t make sense.

“Yeah,” Brii says, biting his lip and moving his hand in a series of harsh, bold strokes. “It’s a good one. I didn’t need one this nice, but-” He shrugs.

“I… don’t understand,” Naas says, carefully. He plucks at the collar of his blacks, considers picking up one of Brii’s pencils to look at. The pencils are  _ cool.  _ He wants to try drawing, once. But. It is not his book.

And drawing is not allowed. Having things is  _ not. _

When you have things,  _ he  _ takes them,  _ someone  _ always takes them. All the things he likes.

“What?” Brii asks, looking up for a second, frowning.

“Why did he… We can’t… Brii.” He stops, struggles for a second. “Brii, we can’t  _ have _ \- It’s not  _ allowed,  _ Brii, why would he get you a sketchbook?”

Brii hums a little, frowns, like he’s  _ concerned. _ “We can have our own things, Naas. That’s not even against protocol, clones can have personal possessions.”

That is. Not the point.

Naas pulls his arms in close and shakes his head.

Krell did not let them  _ keep things.  _ They could only have the armor, and tattoos if they were careful, and weapons.

None of those things are  _ theirs,  _ anyway, but they can treat them like they are.

“He didn’t… we don’t  _ get- _ When we have things, he  _ takes  _ them,” he says, lowering his voice, swallowing. “Like your- your book. Things that are important. We can’t  _ have them.” _

Brii’s hand has gone very still, the sketchbook tilting back towards Naas a little, but he doesn’t want to try to see, anymore. Brii leans forward a little. “I’m sorry, Naas. Did he… Was there something of yours that he took?”

No. He does not like to  _ talk. _ About this.

Cannot  _ think about  _ it because then he gets nauseous, and his head aches.

He had- One time. Once. After Hoth, after he was  _ naas,  _ he found it.

He thinks he will tell Brii. Because Brii understands.

“I had a- There was a loth-cat,” he says. It was like the cat Brii drew him. Small and fluffy and barely grown. “I named it. So it was mine.”  _ Ne’tra. _ Black, because of its fur. “Was careful. Gave it my own food. And I- it was  _ my cat.” _

Brii looks a little pale.

He thinks Brii must understand.

“But it was alive, so. I couldn’t hide it. Very well. One day it just… it got away from me, my head was hurting and I couldn’t focus, and it just- Krell picked it up.” Krell had picked his cat up with one massive hand, had narrowed his eyes at it, and he’d patted it with another hand, thoughtful, and  _ whose animal is this? _ “He, he- Um, he…”

He cannot  _ tell this part. _

Brii sets down his sketchbook and scoots closer, puts his arms around Naas’ shoulders, and Naas leans into him a little. It helps, some, although not enough because like he knew he would be, he’s nauseous, shivering.

“He  _ killed it,”  _ he manages, against Brii’s shoulder. “My  _ cat,  _ he just- Like your sketchbook. Killed  _ my cat,  _ and I  _ named him.” _

Ne’tra was his cat, was a  _ living thing,  _ and Krell  _ killed him,  _ and he  _ can’t have things. _ Not important things, can’t say they’re his, it is not- It is not  _ safe. _ Because he’ll lose them, someone will take them.

His battalion says he’s not supposed to be upset.  _ It’s just a cat, _ they said, because  _ don’t let the General know you’re upset. You cannot be so weak, or he’ll  _ **_leave you_ ** _ and we won’t be able to help. _

But he still feels so much  _ worse _ when he thinks about it, and it hurts.

~~~

Brii doesn’t know what to  _ say, _ to do, so he just holds Naas tighter, holds his new friend closer, because he--he  _ knows. _ He knows how it feels and he knows why Naas is shaking and he knows why Naas doesn’t think he can  _ have things _ anymore.

He’d almost stopped drawing, himself. But General Skywalker had asked, and you don’t tell the General  _ no, _ and his  _ vode _ have been begging him for more pictures, so. So he draws. Because his brothers and his General want him to.

“I’m sorry about him,” Brii says, careful, considering. They have been planning to give the new  _ vode _ gifts, and--Brii hadn’t been able to come up with anything besides  _ pictures. _ But he--he has an idea now, he thinks. “What--what was his name?”

He tightens his arms around Naas, cautious, afraid of trapping his  _ vod’ika, _ waits for a response, if there will be one.

There is one. “Ne’tra,” Naas says, so raspy. “I just called him that, when I saw him, and then he answered to it, so I…” and he stops, shrugs, just a little tiny jerk of his shoulders.

Brii swallows hard.

He  _ will _ find another one, he decides. Another loth-cat. Commander Tano says the Temple keeps a few loth-cats to hunt the mice and other vermin that get inside--maybe he can… borrow one? Will the Jedi be mad if one of them goes missing? He resolves to ask General Skywalker as soon as he can. 

But for now, he has his  _ vod’ika _ to comfort. He can make plans  _ later, _ when Naas isn’t stiff and shaky in his arms. (When he isn’t remembering all-too-clearly the  _ green _ of the saber cutting through all his drawings just as easily as it slices through clankers and blast doors.)

Later.

~~~

Rex does not have any idea where or how to find a  _ sketchbook,  _ of all things - on the rare occasion that he’s purchased tools or supplies on Coruscant’s middle levels, he hasn’t exactly been on the lookout for art supplies. The vender he buys armor paint from isn’t an  _ artist,  _ by any stretch of the word, but he takes Ahsoka with him and tries there first, is laughed at for his efforts.

“Ya need more paint, you can come t’ me. Can’t help ya with  _ that,”  _ they tell him.

So now they’re more or less wandering, have tried going up a couple levels where the  _ nice _ shops and businesses are and where clones do  _ not _ go, generally. Coruscant’s upper crust do not want reminders of the war so close to their doorsteps, and they’re obvious about it. Part of it is, Rex is sure, him in all his armor very gruffly asking for something with no more specificity than “I need a sketchbook,” and the vendors, higher class, not rich but used to richer clients, don’t seem to know what to do with him.

Which would be fine if he could just  _ find a karking sketchbook. _

“You’re a Jedi,” he grumbles, at Ahsoka, after what feels like the hundredth shop owner shows them options that are  _ well  _ out of Rex’s ability to pay for them (and he is  _ not  _ letting Ahsoka help, she tried offering - but he promised Brii  _ himself) _ . “Shouldn’t you know where to find this stuff?” He rubs his eyes, irritably, and crosses his arms, looking around for where the  _ kriff  _ to try next. Coruscant is  _ stupid  _ sometimes.

“Kriff no, I don’t draw,” Ahsoka grumbles, glaring up at him, her hands resting on her sabers. “You know, if you’d just let me  _ help you,  _ we’d be done by now.”

Rex sighs. “I said  _ I’d  _ get it, Ahsoka, you can’t just do it for me.” He doesn’t know how to explain that it’s  _ important  _ to him that he does it on his own. Not that it fixes anything, or replaces Brii’s old sketches, but it’s like… He should have been able to see, and not let Krell do that to his  _ vod’ika. _ This feels like beginning to fix it.

“Why not?” she asks, pouting, and he chuckles dryly.

“Because it’s  _ my _ present for him, Ahsoka, not yours.” And he should have enough karking credits for one, if they wouldn’t all be  _ genuine bantha leather  _ (or fathier leather, at the shadier places) and  _ handmade  _ and  _ best Kashyyk paper  _ and all that  _ banthashit. _

Rich sentients. Karking crazy.

~~~

Ahsoka has never really seen the thrill in wandering around Coruscant, especially when you don’t actually know where to find what you’re looking for. She doesn’t like being up here around all the rich people, either; they look at Rex in his armor (though he at least has his bucket clipped to his belt instead of on) and her with her lightsabers and sneer. Though a couple shopkeepers had seemed to find it  _ funny _ when they’d argued over who was buying the sketchbook.

Some of the other shopkeepers were… alright, ambivalent.

One shop had refused to let Rex in. Because  _ we don’t serve your kind here. _ Rex had had to  _ pull _ her away, forcibly, before she could tell the shopkeeper just what she thought of  _ that.  _

Rex looks  _ exhausted, _ she decides, peering up at him with a little frown on her face. There are shadows under his eyes and he’s a bit paler than he should be, and he’s--he’s just  _ tired, _ she can  _ tell, _ in the way he acts, the way his Force-signature feels. She’s beginning to doubt his claims that he  _ knows how much sleep I need, Ahsoka, don’t worry about me, Ahsoka, _ the stupid idiot.

She’s tired too. She doesn’t feel so safe at night, without him curled around her--she jolts awake at every noise, can’t fall back asleep again. It’s too much, too much--sleeping is  _ hard, _ when you don’t feel safe.

“I wanna take a break and get lunch,” she declares, reaching up and taking his hand, forcefully uncrossing his arms. “Come with me? We can go back down to a lower level, where they don’t all have sticks up their asses.”

“Fine by me,” he says, sounds grumpy, and she beams. Tugs him along with her, heading for a staircase that drops them out of a square and into the actual, main levels of the megalopolis.

There’s a really good little Alderaanian cafe a few levels down, not far from Dex’s, actually--she hails a taxi, pays the driver to take them down, curls up against his side, threads her fingers through his and tucks her head against his shoulder. It’s been four days of sleeping alone, of hardly seeing each other, and he doesn’t want to  _ talk _ about any of it (isn’t ready, she knows, so she tries not to push) and she  _ misses him _ and it’s all stupid.

She wants him.

~~~

“You sleepy?” Rex asks, smiling to himself and nudging Ahsoka a little. He doesn’t understand why his armor doesn’t bother her more - sure, she complains about it pinching her, but then she just curls up against him anyway.

“A little,” she sighs. “Mostly just missing you.”

Rex squeezes her hand, lightly. “I’m sorry. It’s just… the men, and reports, and trying to sort it all out- I miss you, too.” He misses things being  _ normal. _ Whatever that was for them, at least.

His battalion is a mess; his veteran troopers are coping by trying to make everything better for the former members of the 607th and for the shinies, and the 607th and the shinies are coping as best they can - or not trying to cope at all. If he was actually sleeping, most nights, he'd be waking up to screams; as it is, every night, at least one  _ vod  _ wakes up crying and he always goes over. Every time. Even if Je’kai or another  _ vod  _ is there already.

He's responsible for the nightmares, so he has to try to alleviate them. 

“I know,” Ahsoka says, tilting her head back to look at him. He smiles at her, quiet, and she hums a little. “How have you been, Rex? Really.”

Rex looks her in her blue-as-a-harbor, warm, understanding eyes and shrugs. “Fine,” he says, as he has said every other time she's asked him how he's been. “A little tired. The men keep waking up and I help them.”

He and Cody haven't had a chance to talk since Cody killed Krell (something Rex wishes he had had the strength to do, but is just glad that  _ someone  _ did), and that is hard. Cody would  _ understand,  _ about the names, and the wounded, and Rex could talk to him, since he apparently can't just karking  _ get over it. _ But Cody’s busy with his own battalion, and maybe that's for the best. No use wasting time on something that's done with.

“You're sleeping though, right?” she asks, and he huffs a little.

_ “Yes,  _ ‘Soka.” Not much. Enough.

She frowns at him a little. “Just making sure. You look tired.”

“Because I  _ am,  _ like I said,” he snorts. “You try sleeping when there's people waking you up screaming, and let me know how well rested you are.” He's taken to mostly sleeping in the afternoon, because then when he  _ does  _ sleep, he's not getting woken up - after the first night of trying to sleep like usual he'd decided that was  _ not  _ going to work.

Ahsoka sighs, squeezing his hand tight as the taxi draws to a smooth stop, then she lets go and hands over a couple credits to the driver, and Rex climbs out, straightening up and eyeing the small, neat, artful cafe they've arrived at somewhat dubiously. Technically, clones are allowed in any establishment that other sentients are, but there are still people (like the shopowner this afternoon) that do not want armored clones bred for the express purpose of fighting a war in their businesses.

He's always been bothered by that, even though he understands. Now it makes him angrier than he'd care to admit. He'd rather not give this place a chance to kick him out too - but then, the businesses in the middle and lower levels are usually used to clone customers. Lucky him.

He sighs, feels Ahsoka slip her fingers back through his, and he looks down, smiles at him because she looks pleased. “I like this cafe,” she informs him, tugging on his hand, and he grins and shakes his head, pulls his hand free of hers but follows her nonetheless. She is not terribly good at being  _ secretive. _

“It looks nice,” he answers, light. Caf does sound good, at the moment. Kriffing  _ shopping  _ takes too much effort.

~~~

Ahsoka pouts when Rex pulls his fingers free from her own, grumbles under her breath and reaches for his hand again. He pulls it out of her reach, gives her a meaningful  _ look, _ and she huffs.

Who the kriff  _ cares _ if they’re in pubic? It’s  _ Coruscant, _ no one around them is going to care.

She shakes her head, sighs, steps inside the little cafe. The chef and owner of the place is an Alderaanian Human named Lissa, and she and Ahsoka are on friendly terms--the place is open late at night and serves good caf, which is nice after long missions or when Anakin’s being annoying. She waves to the woman behind the counter, drops into her favorite table, the one in the corner, where she can see the whole room, grins at Rex.

“Don’t worry, these guys aren’t like that--that  _ mir’osik _ up there, they like clones.”

“I never should have told you what that means,” Rex grumbles, sitting down, and she laughs.

“Hey, I did what you said, I haven’t called Anakin  _ or _ Fives it yet!” Well, except that one time, but she’s pretty sure Fives was laughing too hard to ask any questions about where she’d learned the term, and she wasn’t gonna tattle on Rex like that.

“No,” Rex says, “but you used it on a rich Coruscant shopkeeper.”

“Well they  _ deserved it,” _ she snaps back, “denying you entry like that. Asshole.” She stops talking to take a menu from the waiter and smile at him, but as soon as he leaves she turns back to Rex. “I wanted to punch them.”

“I know you did,” he says, rolling his eyes a little and picking up his menu. “That’s why I pulled you away.”

She grumbles something rude in Huttese under her breath, casts her gaze around the cafe more as a habit than anything else, checking for threats--there aren’t any, but there  _ are _ a few books, some plain, some bound with fancier paper, on a shelf on the wall. “Look over there, Rexter, I think those might be sketchbooks--I wonder if  _ they’re _ in your price range?”

“I doubt it, nothing  _ karking _ is,” he mutters, but he sounds almost  _ considering, _ and she smiles as she goes back to looking through the menu.

_ Finally, _ maybe they have a lead. She  _ really hates _ shopping.

~~~

Rex flips his own menu over a couple of times, irritably. He's hungry, but mostly he wants caf, and he can't read half the damn words on the menu. Plus he isn't exactly flush on credits as it is and he needs to have enough left for a sketchbook, assuming he  _ ever  _ finds one he can afford. Karking  _ artists  _ need everything to be expensive.

Or maybe it's just the war, driving up costs - he doesn't know. He doesn't purchase enough things to know what's normal.

Ahsoka seems familiar with the menu, because she only takes a minute looking at it, then sets it down, rests her forearms on the table, and sighs dramatically. Rex resolves to just order plain caf, and then maybe if she gets something that sounds good, imitate her order.

He puts his own menu down and rubs his face with one hand, wearily, glancing around the cafe. Just in case.

“Are  _ you  _ getting sleep?” Rex asks, because for all that she's worried about how tired he apparently looks, she's not exactly bursting with energy herself.

She shrugs a little. “Yeah, sorta.”

“‘Sorta'?” Rex raises an eyebrow at her. “That's not the best answer to that question.”

“I mean, yeah.” She's not looking at him, quite. Is she  _ aware  _ how unconvincing she sounds? “Yeah, I'm sleeping, I'm the smart one in this relationship.”

Rex snorts a little, shakes his head. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, sir.” Their waiter is making his way back to their table.

Rex still doesn't know if he wants anything besides regular caf. Kriffing  _ restaurants. _

The waiter is, he suspects from the accent and clothes, Alderaanian, and also a bit harried. “Do you know what you want?”

Rex nods at Ahsoka to order first, decides as she does that he doesn't like the sound of her food, so just caf it is. She orders some kind of caf with  _ chocolate,  _ too, the kriff? Her and her too-sweet caf, it's nasty.

“Just a regular caf,” he says gruffly, shrugging.

For some reason, that earns him an exasperated look from Ahsoka, and she adds, quickly, “And get him a steak with roasted potatoes.”

Rex waits till the waiter hurries off to frown at Ahsoka, shaking his head. “I was fine, ‘Soka, you didn't have to do that.”

She scoffs at him, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “You need to eat.”

“I was gonna eat in the mess,” he grumbles, half-heartedly, because actually the food sounds damn good. It's just… he feels oddly scolded and he doesn't like it.

“Well, now you don't have to,” she says with a bright grin, and he can't really argue with her when she looks like that, so he sighs and shakes his head at her.

“Thanks, then.” There's really only so far he's willing to protest, if she's offering to buy food for him. It just feels odd, because she's his Jedi, and they're just… sitting. In a cafe. He doesn't know how to handle this situation.

~~~

They sit and chat about little things, while waiting for their food to come and after it does; Ahsoka tries a couple times to redirect the conversation more towards Umbara, but Rex pulls back so fast it gives her whiplash every time, so after a bit she sighs and gives up.

It’s frustrating, though.

She  _ knows _ Umbara is affecting him, knows he probably blames himself for a lot of it, but she only knows that because she knows  _ him. _ He hasn’t told her  _ anything-- _ sure, there was the debriefing, but that was about as clinical and detached as possible. And he’s barely even mentioned the events of Umbara since then.

Of course, they’ve hardly had any time to talk over the last few days. Rex has been busy with reports and his men, and she’s been stuck in her own debriefs and helping the Council plan for the apparent  _ youngling spying mission, _ why the kriff didn’t  _ she _ get to do anything like that? So it probably makes  _ sense, _ that they haven’t spoken much about Umbara, but…

Ahsoka sighs, pushing her plate back, says, “You should go look at those sketchbooks over there while I pay the bill. Maybe one of them will be cheap enough?”

Rex shrugs, but he pushes himself to his feet anyway and nods, heads over to the shelves and starts picking the books up, leafing through them curiously. Ahsoka walks up to the counter to pay, offers her credit stick, says, “Throw one of those pastries in, too, would you?” They’re one of Anakin’s favorite things, and so she makes an effort to bring him one every time she comes here to eat.

“Of course, Master Jedi,” the woman behind the counter says calmly, and Ahsoka smiles a little. “I see your trooper’s taken an interest in those sketchbooks--he doesn’t look like the artist type to me, I’m surprised.” It’s a subtle probe for more information--Ahsoka snorts, but she answers anyway.

“He’s not. The sketchbook’s a gift, for another one of my men--his old one and most of his drawings were destroyed on a campaign.”

The woman looks pained, for a moment. “That’s a shame,” she says quietly, and then raises her voice. “Hey, trooper--gifts are automatically twenty percent off.”

~~~

Rex tenses a little and turns, nodding to the cashier and Ahsoka, who grins at him. That doesn't  _ quite  _ sound like a real business policy, but Rex isn't going to question it when he doesn't have many credits to begin with, so he turns back to the display, goes through them again.

Turns out that even with the “automatic” discount, he only really has two options. They’re both small and paperbound with pages that feel slightly rough under his fingers, but one’s binding is all dyed bright colors, so of course he has to choose that. He picks it up, very carefully, sets his shoulders back and walks to the counter where Ahsoka’s waiting.

“Just this,” he says seriously, sets the sketchbook on the counter and pretends he doesn’t feel sheepish at all. Because he does. He wants to get back to the barracks where he belongs.

“Alright.” The woman smiles at him, thinks for a second, then, “With the gift discount, that’s forty credits.”

Rex sighs and hands the money over, smiling tightly. “Thanks.” He just stops himself from saying  _ sir. Haar’chak. _

Ahsoka nudges his elbow, and he grabs the sketchbook and starts briskly for the door, wishes he could just put his helmet on, but then Ahsoka would grumble at him, and people give him nervous looks (or rather,  _ more  _ nervous looks) when he wears the helmet in public. At least he has a sketchbook now, and with all the colors on the cover, he  _ thinks  _ it’s perfect for Brii.

Even if it’s not, the  _ point  _ of the gifts is the thinking. The knowing. So Brii will understand why Rex has gotten it for him, even if he never uses it (unlikely).

He and Ahsoka take a taxi back to the barracks, and as she leans into his side, rambling about something funny she saw a child doing in the cafe, he tries very hard not to  _ think,  _ not to let himself consider the shopkeeper from earlier or even the woman at the counter in the cafe. He does not  _ belong  _ with normal sentients, none of his  _ vode  _ do, and for nearly the first time he can’t quite resign himself to that.

He wants… he wants better for his  _ vode,  _ than this.

~~~

When Brii had first approached General Skywalker with his idea, a couple days ago, he’d half-expected to get laughed at. Because what use would a  _ clone _ have for a  _ loth-cat? _

But he’d told the General Naas’ story, had said,  _ please, sir, I think it would help him, _ and his General had--his General had  _ agreed. _

Wow.

Brii still, sometimes, is surprised by how  _ lucky _ he is, to be in the 501st, under General Skywalker.

So here he is, with Fives (who is apparently  _ not good _ with animals, but wants to try anyway) and Kix, following their General into a courtyard in the middle of the Jedi Temple.

And  _ holy kriffing shit. _

There are  _ flowers. Everywhere. _ And trees and vines and weird  _ birds _ and  _ wow. _ So many  _ colors, _ he--he wants to paint it all. But that’s not why he’s here, and so he’s gotta  _ focus. _

(But  _ whoa, _ there’s so much here)

“I’m  _ really kriffing terrible _ at animal friendship,” General Skywalker admits sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “Actually, I tend to scare them  _ off. _ So I’ll just… leave you here, and you guys can go whenever you’re done. I assume one of you memorized the way in?”

“Of course, sir,” Fives says, rolling his eyes. “Wouldn’t be an ARC trooper if I didn’t.”

“Great!” Skywalker turns and walks away, quickly, and Brii frowns to himself, focused on the task at hand.

“Does anyone know how to do this?”

Fives snorts. “This is  _ your idea, vod’ika, _ I’m just moral support.”

Well  _ that’s _ helpful. Brii flips a rude hand gesture at his  _ vod, _ looks to Kix. “Kix?  _ You _ got anything?”

In answer, Kix holds out the paper bag he’s been carrying. Brii takes it, opens it--food. “I’m not hungry,” he says, frowning more, because  _ what the actual kriff, _ Kix?

Kix  _ sighs, _ presses his palm to his forehead, groans, “It’s for the cats, Brii.”

Oh.

That makes--way more sense.

“Sit down and set it out and chill, and one of them will show up eventually.”

So  _ that’s _ how this works?

Brii doesn’t know, he’s never actually petted one before, or  _ seen one _ in real life.

Getting Fives to sit down and stay still is a  _ challenge. _

Brii is glad he’d brought his sketchbook and pencil with him; he sketches the flower beds, sketches Fives standing with his arms crossed, leaning against one of the twisted trees, sketches Kix laying on his back with his eyes closed, for all intents and purposes asleep. He’s not sure how long they wait (long enough he’s considering stealing some of the meat from Kix’s loth-cat bait for a snack), but Fives is sitting down now (finally) and Kix hasn’t moved, is just breathing in and out steadily.

And then it comes.

A tiny little fluffy thing with ears half the size of its body and a floofy tail, all light grey with darker grey and black stripes and white paws and a white tip on its tail. It comes to  _ Kix, _ after sniffing at the meat and then ignoring it, just clambers up onto Kix’s stomach and lays down and purrs,  _ loudly. _

Whoa.

Kix wraps it up in his hands and sits up, grinning proudly--the cat would fit in one hand, except for its tail and  _ ears, _ it’s so  _ small, _ wow--and holds the cat out, says, “Here you go, Brii, is she good enough for you?”

“She?” Brii blinks, takes the loth-cat carefully into his hands (and it’s so small, gods, what if he  _ drops her _ or breaks her or--). “How do you know?”

Kix just shrugs. “The Force told me,” he says, casual, as though that’s--normal, as though the Force  _ telling people things _ is just an everyday occurrence. (Well, maybe it is, Brii’s not a Jedi, he doesn’t know these things.)

“Right. Um, hey, Fives, it’s time to go,” Brii says, standing up and holding the cat in one hand so he can put his sketchbook and pencil away. “We gotta get back, I can’t  _ wait _ to see Naas’ face!”

~~~

Sometimes, Naas wishes he could try drawing, like Brii does, or carving like one of the 501st troopers does - anything to help him pass the time. Because they’ve been… been doing  _ nothing. _ For  _ days  _ now. And all he has to do is  _ think. _

He does not. Like that.

But doing things like the 501st does is worse, he thinks. They do so many things that are  _ not regulation _ and he doesn’t understand it.

He would help the medics, but, he doesn’t know anything. Beten never had time to teach him and he doesn’t think he could ask Kix, even if Kix were  _ here  _ \- Kix left with Brii and Fives and the General a while ago and Brii wouldn’t tell him why.

Maybe it’s about… about Kix using the  _ Force. _

Clones aren’t supposed to  _ do that. _ You report  _ vod _ who do, and they get terminated. And no one had, had  _ said  _ anything to Kix about it, and Naas thought maybe it was… was okay? Here?

But the General came today and Kix isn’t back yet.

Maybe it’s still okay, Brii wouldn’t just  _ go,  _ would he? Unless he had to.

Naas rubs his hands together and shivers. He wishes he wasn’t here either, a little. It would be  _ easier. _

Sometimes he isn’t sure Krell’s dead.

It’s just… He’s  _ the General.  _ Nothing can kill him, Naas has seen him fight wolves and clankers and  _ vode  _ and… and even if Commander Cody is a  _ Marshall Commander,  _ he can’t have just… shot the  _ General. _

He doesn’t think so much like this when Brii is here because Brii  _ talks  _ to him.

Even Captain Rex is gone. Je’kai is here, but he is busy, and he does not like to just  _ talk. _ None of his old  _ vode  _ do, they are all too. He doesn’t know. Tense, now. Cager used to talk to him but Cager is too nervous and Ulyc is dead and Beten is busy.

Naas does not know why he wants to talk except that it’s better than thinking.

He curls his arms around his stomach and leans against the side of his bunk, stops paying so much attention to all his exhausted brothers, makes himself  _ not here. _

He doesn't know, anymore.

And then the sound of the barracks door opening jolts him  _ back  _ again, and he straightens up where he's sitting, tensing, because it could be - he never knows, never knows, never knows.

It's Captain Rex and the Commander, and partly hidden behind them, Brii and Fives and Kix again. Rex and the Commander come into the barracks and Naas shrinks back on his bunk a little; hears Rex very quietly telling the Commander she should go, and when she grumbles, Brii leans around them (his hands behind his back) and says, “Commander, you better go, if I…” He raises his eyebrows, fidgeting, and Naas hums to himself.

Brii seems almost…  _ excited?  _ Bouncy.

Commander Tano does  _ not,  _ and Naas looks down at his knees. Don't pay attention, and don't draw attention to himself. She'll go away soon, he hopes.

~~~

Commander Tano leaves, finally, but she’s  _ sulky _ about it. Brii probably should care more about the fact that his Commander is sulking.

He doesn’t.

Because in his hands, behind his back, there’s a (loudly) purring bundle of fluff, and he’s  _ excited. _

He bounces on his toes, rolls his eyes at Fives, and then decides they’re all being too  _ slow _ and walks over to Naas’ bunk, grinning. His friend, his  _ vod, _ is staring at his knees and not looking, like he’s  _ afraid, _ and Brii doesn’t  _ like that. _

Naas shouldn’t have to be afraid anymore.

So Brii says, “Um, hey, Naas, I thought--well. I got you something,” and he (so so careful) brings his hands around to the front, holds out the little loth-cat, nervously. “We, um, we found her in the Temple courtyard--General Skywalker helped us get in, and she came up to see us, well Kix really, Fives was being grumpy and I haven’t ever  _ seen _ a loth-cat in real life before so we were both kinda useless,” and he should really shut up now,  _ gods, _ Tup would smack him.

~~~

Brii is holding out a  _ loth-cat,  _ a little, grey, striped, fluffy thing with  _ huge  _ ears and a definite smile, squirming a little and scratching half-heartedly at Brii’s hands. Naas doesn't mean to but he reaches out a little, and suddenly Brii is pushing the cat gently into his hands and she's  _ soft, soft. _

And in his hands.

And Brii says  _ I got you something _ so. So, is the cat his?  _ His? _

But no, no, no, he can’t  _ have  _ a cat, can’t, last time it- last time-

But he can’t hand her back to Brii because Brii’s scooted back and is looking at him anxiously, and he can’t just drop her, and she is  _ so small  _ and meowing raspily for such a tiny thing.

She’s- Oh, she’s so  _ soft  _ and nice. She has the  _ bluest  _ eyes. And she isn’t wriggling, she’s curled up against his palms and  _ purring,  _ he can feel her rumbling like a starfighter engine.

Oh, he wants her. Tiny little thing.

“Kix says it’s a she,” Brii says, sounds awkward.

Naas has been too quiet.

“I know,” he says, staring down at the cat. (He could call her  _ Orikih,  _ it fits- but naming her, no, that means she’s his.)

Brii is fidgeting, worried, and he starts rambling again, hasty, which Naas has decided he does when he’s nervous. “It was my idea, to get you a cat- I asked General Skywalker,” oh no, why would he  _ do that,  _ “and he said there were spare ones in the Temple and he helped me get in there to find her. So… she’s okay, you can keep her, promise.” Oh. Oh? “Unless you don’t want her?” Brii adds, shaky, and Naas knows if he doesn’t say something he’ll worry Brii again but he can’t have her, can’t have a cat, can’t have things, they get taken, he  _ told  _ Brii it’s not allowed, he  _ said _ it wasn’t safe, he  _ told him,  _ he can’t-

The cat stretches up in his hands, sits up, wobbly, and mews, almost  _ irritably,  _ and oh.

“I…” Naas hesitates. He can hide her, he can do better at it this time. And Brii  _ says,  _ says that the General said it was, was okay? “I want her,” he whispers, carefully frees one hand to pet her head, rub her little neck and behind the massive ears.

Brii  _ visibly  _ relaxes, grinning so, so wide. “Oh, great!” he says, happily.

Orikih scrambles off his hand, onto his leg, and promptly slip-slithers off the smooth plastoid armor to plop onto his bunk with a peeved yowl. Naas laughs, reaches out and scoops her back up to cradle her against his chest, although his armor must not be comfortable at all, hard and cool as it is.

He has… has… has a  _ loth-cat,  _ again.  _ His own.  _ And he will protect her, this time, he thinks Brii will help, and Captain Rex, Rex wouldn’t let anyone take his cat, and so. So.

Orikih is  _ his cat. _

~~~

Brii sits down by Naas and grins (probably stupidly, who knows) at his friend, watches as the little cat purrs like a little machine and stretches up to bump Naas’ face with her huge ears.

She’s so  _ cute, _ Brii thinks he wants a loth-cat  _ too. _

“What’re you gonna name her?” he asks, curiously, reaching out one cautious hand to pet the little kitten behind those ears--she tilts her head into his hand and purrs  _ louder, _ and  _ wow _ she  _ vibrates. _

Naas is hesitant, quiet, when he answers. “She’s Orikih.”

_ Tiny. _

Brii  _ laughs, _ scratches her more, says, “Well, she really  _ is, _ tiny I mean.”

“Yeah,” Naas says, bright, smiles just a little.

Brii shifts his hand to Orikih’s neck, but before he can say anything else Captain Rex comes up, smiling a little. He holds something out--small and brightly colored and-- _ it’s a book. _

A sketchbook.

“So,” Rex starts, stiffly, “I know you have General Skywalker’s, and it can’t replace the old pictures, but here’s the sketchbook I promised.”

And oh,  _ gods, _ he didn’t think--but the General gave him one too, Rex didn’t  _ have to, _ he-- “You didn’t have to, sir,” he says, but he reaches out and takes the little book and hugs it tight to his chest and oh  _ no _ he doesn’t want to cry in front of  _ the Captain, _ oh no, now he’ll look--

The Captain sits down next to him on the bunk and pulls Brii into a hug, and  _ oh. _

Oh, well, that’s better?

Brii sniffles, says, “Thank you,  _ ori’vod, _ uh, sir, I mean,” oops, that’s the Captain, you don’t--you gotta be  _ careful, _ you can’t just call the Captain  _ not sir, _ that’s not how it  _ works, _ he’s the  _ Captain, _ and he should stop rambling now, Tup would--Brii. Shut  _ up. _

But  _ gods, _ he’s still crying and the  _ Captain _ and Naas and--and something lands heavy on his shoulder and there’s the sound of claws scratching against his armor before Orikih  _ squeaks _ and tumbles onto his lap, and Brii looks down at the little cat and he can’t help laughing.

She does not appreciate that. Instead, she poofs her tail up fat and clambers off of him, makes a beeline for Naas’ lap again, curling up and purring.

Brii thinks that if he could just--stop time, he’d do it, right now, right here, to feel all this happiness  _ forever. _ (But that’s not how it  _ works, _ either, and he--if he wants to be happy, he has to make his  _ own _ happiness, because he learned a long time ago the universe doesn’t care enough about the  _ vode _ to give it to them.)

~~~

Rex keeps his arms tight around Brii, laughs at the little loth-cat settling itself on Naas’ lap, and says to Brii, “You're welcome,  _ vod’ika.”  _ Maybe this is good enough, for now, maybe this has repaired things some, the gift of the sketchbook. He looks up at Naas, who’s eyeing them almost longingly, petting his cat, and he reaches out with his free hand and taps Rex’s arm, hesitant.

He doesn’t  _ say  _ anything, but Rex thinks he understands, so he pats Brii’s back and lets go of him (Brii  _ immediately  _ cracks open the sketchbook and pulls a pencil out of his belt), gets up and moves around to sit by Naas. Naas grins at him, a little, and Rex smiles back and pulls him into a hug too, which makes the cat, Orikih, squeak in annoyance.

“Why do you… Why so many  _ things?”  _ Naas asks, and Rex leans back, frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Brii gave me… my  _ cat,”  _ Naas stammers. “And you gave him a sketchbook, sir, so… Why?”

Why the  _ gifts?  _ Rex realizes, with a pang, that the 607th… probably never got to have that tradition. Because it’s about being  _ people,  _ about recognizing-knowing each other’s uniqueness. He touches Naas’ shoulder, gentle. “When bad things happen to us, or we have a bad battle, we all give each other gifts, afterward.”

Naas’ eyes widen. “But… but, why?”

Rex sighs, lightly, glances over at Brii and sees his  _ vod’ika  _ feverishly sketching one of his  _ vode -  _ it’s too rough a drawing yet to know  _ which _ brother. “Because, Naas, we want to remind each other that we’re our own people. Not just  _ numbers. _ Look.” He flicks his vibroknife out of his gauntlet, holds it out demonstratively. “My  _ ori’vod  _ gave me this a long time ago because I lost most of my battalion and I- Well, I didn’t know what I was supposed to be.”

Naas looks so confused, reaches out and touches the hilt of the knife thoughtfully. “And that’s…  _ allowed?” _

“Yeah.” Rex flips the vibroblade towards himself and slips it back into his gauntlet with a sigh. “That’s what the cat is for, Naas. Brii wants you to remember what makes you  _ yourself.” _ Like he wanted Brii to know he was sorry, to remind him it was  _ safe,  _ here, to be  _ not a number. _

So, the gifts.

Naas blinks, and Rex realizes he's tearing up, so he reaches out and pulls Naas into a second hug, steadying. “You're alright,  _ vod’ika.” _

He sits with them for a bit longer, reluctantly pets Orikih, and then leaves Brii to his drawing and Naas to his new loth-cat, goes to sit down and do some reports.

He's almost done with the equipment loss and replacement forms, has edited and then signed an official report on the campaign that Anakin drew up, and has nearly completed a  _ very  _ lengthy form about Krell and why he took action against him, so that the GAR can review the case and determine for certain that he is not due to be court-martialed. With the witness of three Jedi on the form, he should be fine, but he doesn't particularly like working on it anyway.

He has not touched the casualty reports.

As long as he does them before their next campaign, it will be fine. But he is not willing to start that process yet. He can't. Anakin's trying to get them a few extra weeks of leave before their next campaign, so he doesn't have to do those reports for a little while yet.

So he works on his long “here's why it's okay that I was highly insubordinate” form instead, even though the lines and blanks and questions are beginning to all blur together into a big suspicious blob. He didn't sleep at all yesterday; it's been, he thinks, fifty-one hours since he slept last. He'll catch a few more hours tonight, he supposes, between his  _ vode’s  _ nightmares.

For now, though, reports - because right now, he thinks he can manage. Thinks sleep doesn't sound so bad, really, for tonight, between eating with Ahsoka and the gifts for his  _ vode. _

Maybe there won't be so many nightmares, if he sleeps tonight.

~~~

Ahsoka can’t sleep.

She’s  _ exhausted, _ really--has only been sleeping in fits and starts since Umbara, because she hasn’t had to sleep alone since Rex healed up enough to leave the medbay, after Wasskah. And she doesn’t feel  _ safe, _ anymore, sleeping alone.

So even the smallest sounds send her snapping awake and alert and  _ ready _ for a threat.

Tonight, though, she can’t even  _ fall asleep _ in the first place. It’s like something’s--conspiring to make it so she’s even  _ more _ exhausted  _ tomorrow, _ and she’s not sure how well she’ll be able to hide it from Anakin and Obi-Wan and Kix if she doesn’t get some decent rest tonight.

She misses Rex.

Ahsoka tosses and turns on the bed, rolling over onto her other side and staring at the wall for a moment before huffing out a breath and sitting up, burying her head in her hands.  _ Kriff _ this, it’s no  _ use. _

She’s  _ never _ going to get to sleep tonight.

She flops back down, dramatically, bundles herself in her blanket and sighs and tries to pretend the warmth is Rex’s body behind her, curling around her. It works, marginally, and she’s  _ just _ finally getting sleepy enough that her eyes are drifting shut when--

It’s the wind. She  _ knows _ it’s the wind, howling around the corners of the Temple.

It still snaps her awake and upright and holding her saber hilt tightly in front of her, defensive, in an instant.

The adrenaline surge lasts just long enough to ascertain there’s no enemy, and then the leaden  _ tiredness _ creeps back, but now her mind is spinning and--

This isn’t working.

Ahsoka doesn’t  _ consciously _ make a decision, but she sighs, tucks her shoto into the waistband of her leggings, rolls herself out of bed and wraps her blanket around her shoulders and over her head, and makes for the window in Anakin’s room.

… the  _ open window. _

He must’ve snuck out to go see Padme again, she decides, sighing, and then she rolls her eyes a little at the pair they make. Climbs through the open frame, glances at the couple-story drop, and then grits her teeth and lets herself fall. Uses another open window a ways down to momentarily arrest her momentum, lets go, tucks and rolls and back up onto her feet.

Easy.

Even if she’s a little sore now, because she forgot her boots, oops.

Ahsoka wraps her blanket tighter around her and makes for the barracks, slips inside without being noticed; most of the men are asleep, and the ones that  _ aren’t _ don’t really look at her. (She  _ thinks _ she might accidentally be encouraging them to look away, with the Force--she doesn’t  _ mean _ to be, but she doesn’t really want them to see her. Doesn’t want to get kicked out.)

Rex is asleep on his bunk. That’s good--she’d thought maybe he was lying to her, about getting enough sleep, but at least he’s being smart about that. She pulls her blanket off herself, tosses it out over the bunk , slithers her way underneath both the blankets and under one of Rex’s arms (tucks her shoto underneath her pillow), curling her arms around him and pressing her face into his chest. And  _ Force, _ this already feels  _ so much better-- _ and then one of his hands fits loosely around her montral and she hums a bit, scoots closer to him, lets out a long breath.

Finally.

And, comforted by his safety and warmth, Ahsoka finally is able to drift off to sleep.

~~~

Rex does not dream, at all.

He wakes up  _ slow,  _ a bit groggy, but leisurely and nice, stretches a bit before curling tighter around Ahsoka and tugging her sleepily closer to his chest where they're both warmer.

She brought her blanket, he realizes vaguely, which is  _ nice.  _ He likes her blanket. It's so much better than his scratchy one. He should get one of his own, for when she is not here, because- because-

_ Oh.  _ He hasn't been letting Ahsoka sleep with him - he didn't let her tonight, did he? He doesn't  _ think  _ he did. Why wasn’t he letting her, again?

He blinks a little, lifts his face away from Ahsoka’s montrals, and rubs his eyes. Opens them all the way to exactly meet the gaze of a frozen-looking trooper with both red and blue paint on his armor.

Oh,  _ shit. _

That was why.

Rex tries to sit up but Ahsoka is comfortably on top of one of his arms, clinging onto the other one, and  _ shit. _ He smiles awkwardly at the nervous trooper and looks around the barracks, reads tension and confusion and anxiety and amusement.

Damnit, he needs to fix this.

He doesn’t really wanna let go of Ahsoka.

His eyes land on Kix, who sighs and says, “Good morning, sir. Hoped you’d sleep a little longer.”

“Yeah, well…” Rex nods vaguely at the rest of the room.

Ahsoka shifts closer to him, where he’s propped himself awkwardly up on one elbow, and smacks his arm lightly with one hand. “Can you  _ shut up?” _

“Good morning,” Rex huffs, very self-conscious.

“G’morning. Go back to sleep.” She pats his arm again, huffing out a breath that he can feel on his hand.

He chuckles a little, eases his other arm out from under her ribs (ow, kriff, it’s asleep), making her grumble and tighten her grip on his other arm.

“She’s right, Captain,” Kix says, desert-dry. “You should go back to sleep.”

Rex can’t now, though; his men are spooked and he thinks he’s slept longer than he meant to. Although that was nice, he supposes. But he needs to figure out what to do now, because there’s a Jedi sleeping in his barracks, which are also full of  _ vode  _ who are terrified of Jedi.

She’s wearing her Hero With No Fear t-shirt and hanging onto his arm like a koala again and all scrunched up under a massive blue blanket and refusing to open her eyes. So maybe they won’t be too panicked.

Ahsoka clearly does not remember, or is ignoring, the fact that she’s not supposed to be here right now; she wrinkles her nose and drags open one grumpy blue eye to glare at him. “Why do you feel so  _ stressed,”  _ she grumps, tugging his arm. “Would you just  _ lay down?” _

_ “Cyar’ika,  _ you’re not exactly supposed to be here,” Rex says, wryly. “And you’re scaring everyone.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says, soft, and, well, he can’t say much to her when she looks all small like that, suddenly. “‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She lets go of his arm to sit up, and he straightens up, too, folds an arm around her shoulders so he can tug her against his side.

“It’s alright,” he says. He  _ hopes  _ there’s no harm done. “No worries, ‘Soka.”

~~~

Ahsoka manages a smile, though inwardly she’s worried--she hadn’t  _ thought, _ last night, she’d just been tired and she couldn’t sleep and she  _ wanted him _ and--

And something small and grey and  _ fluffy _ leaps up onto the bunk and onto her lap and  _ meows. Loudly. _

Oh,  _ Force, _ it’s a--a loth-kitten?

Ahsoka grins, reaches out tentatively and lets the kitten sniff her hand--it headbutts her, purring, and she scratches its oversized ears obligingly. “Oh, you’re  _ cute,” _ she breathes, delighted, and it sits up on its haunches and bats at her fingers. “You wanna play, little one?”

It meows again, and she taps its nose with one finger, imitates the meow, laughing as the kitten about falls over (those ears unbalancing it) trying to chase her fingers. Grins up at Rex, says,  _ “Look, _ Rex!”

Rex is smiling a little at her, and she meets his eyes for a second before returning to play with the kitten, wiggling its floof of a tail back and forth until it pounces, falls over onto its back and sticks all four legs up in the air--she grabs at its belly and the cat  _ latches onto _ her wrist, biting at her, and she  _ laughs, _ loud and joyfully.

She almost doesn’t  _ notice _ how the laughter echoes in the sudden  _ quiet _ until Rex says, soft, “Ahsoka.”

She looks up at him, follows his gaze to Naas, who is pale and shaking, and she has just long enough to think  _ oh shit _ before there’s a  _ scream _ in the Force  **_(Orikih!)_ ** and suddenly the kitten rights herself and leaps off the bunk, dashes back across the room and climbs up Naas’ legs into his lap.

Oh. Oh, that’s--not good.

“He’s sensitive,” she tells Rex, low, but there’s something-- _ warning _ in the air, a heavy weight, like the silence before a thunderstorm, and she hesitantly reaches out and  _ listens _ to the Force, to the Force-signatures around her, and--

Naas’ signature is-- _ small _ and  _ soundless, _ so dim it’s barely a flicker, and it  _ burns, _ it’s inverted in upon itself, cold and hot and  _ wrong, _ and she  _ freezes, _ goes so very, very still because she remembers this lesson (it’s one of the most important ones they receive, as Initiates, the lesson about people like this, how to tell and what they feel like and  _ oh no, no no no), _ remembers what can  _ happen. _

Hells. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

He’s shaking and caving in on himself and she swallows  _ hard _ and takes a trembling breath and looks to Je’kai, sitting next to Naas, tries to steady her voice (except that doesn’t really work), drags the old lesson back to the forefront of her mind, says, “Does he ever--Naas, does he ever have… fevers, headaches?”

Je’kai is pale and frowning, as though he can  _ tell _ something is very very wrong, and he almost looks like he doesn’t want to answer but he does. Nods. “Yeah, the meds--never work.”

Force, please no, this is--she needs… she needs the Council for this, she needs them  _ now, _ and Ahsoka whispers it under her breath, the word:  _ “Ustura.” _

And she’s  _ scared him. _

Oh no.

She bolts to her feet and grabs her saber and tucks it into her waistband again, ignores Rex’s confusion, and  _ runs, _ skids around the bunks and out the door, one thought on repeat:  _ Obi-Wan will know what to do, he will know, she needs him, he will help. _

~~~

The Jedi has his cat. He couldn’t keep Orikih from scrambling away from him, not when he was trying to put his armor back on because  _ Jedi in the barracks _ and he was just in his lower body armor, oh no. And now she’s got  _ his cat,  _ again, he knew this would happen again, and she keeps petting his cat and Orikih is so small and he does not  _ like this. _

She’s not holding her, maybe if he can get her back, then, then- then what? He can’t, she can’t take his pet, she, she, she wouldn’t, right? Oh but then Orikih rolls over on the bunk and the Jedi  _ grabs  _ her and she can’t, she can’t, he can’t let this happen again, this time he could get Orikih away from her still, and she turns and  _ looks  _ at him and oh no but. but. She’s not paying attention to his cat and he needs her back, needs her back right  _ now, _ so he just- he  _ reaches,  _ a little too much,  _ yells  _ it,  **_Orikih_ ** _ come back, please,  _ and gods, good, she streaks back to him and up onto his lap and so. So. Safe for a moment.

Oh.  _ Oh. _

Oh no, he did- he did, there is- He can’t- He wasn’t  _ supposed to _ he was  _ not,  _ was not was not. He is not here, he is not here, he is not, please. And she’s  _ staring at him,  _ all shocked, and he  _ didn’t!  _ He didn’t, he just- he just- he didn’t  _ do it,  _ he didn’t touch it, it’s not there, he doesn’t- Orikih crawls all the way under his hand and the Jedi is still staring at him and oh, she’s pale, and she’s- she’s-

She asks  _ Je’kai  _ if he has headaches or fevers and Je’kai says yes and they weren’t supposed to  _ know,  _ he’s defective, that was- and she-

She speaks.

And she  _ runs. _

And they’re going to  _ kill him. _

No no no, he did not, he doesn’t  _ have it,  _ he’s not a traitor, he doesn’t- They  _ can’t. Can’t. _

Je’kai hates it, but he grabs his  _ vod’s _ arm, sways, wants to be  _ not here  _ if they come back and he’s not here they can’t take him, can’t.

Someone says,  _ it’s okay vod it’s not going to be so bad, we’re here for you. _

Beten touches his shoulder, says  _ sorry, I promise we’ll remember you. _

They’re all  _ talking,  _ they have to  _ go away  _ so he can be not here! “Go away,” he says, fast,  _ go away go away go away go away  _ and Beten is flung off his feet, crashes to the floor, and oh no. Oh no he. he. he. Was not supposed to.

“I’m sorry!” He clutches Orikih against him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Hey. Back the  _ kriff  _ off,  _ vode,”  _ and he focuses, stares, that’s his- his-  _ vod,  _ that’s the Captain, carefully settling onto the bunk next to him and he does not know what to do,  _ help please. _ “Hey, c’mere,  _ vod’ika,”  _ Rex says, and there’s an arm around him and  _ go away,  _ but: “No one’s taking you, Naas. You’re not in trouble. Remember Kix?”

No, he is not  _ supposed to,  _ he  _ did not, he didn’t. _ “No,” he says, shaking his head, and Rex starts soothing a hand over the back of his head, is not holding too tight, but, but, but.

“I  _ promise,  _ Naas, she just went to see if she can help us with this. Because it’s damn scary. No one is taking you. Did I protect you from Krell?”

_ Him. NO. _

But. The Captain did. So. He nods.

“They aren’t taking your cat and your  _ vode  _ are wrong, you’re not going to be terminated. You can learn all about the Force with Kix, that’ll be good.”

_ No.  _ No. That is not. No. No. “No,” he says, and Rex hums a little, keeps easing his palm over Naas’ head.

“Okay. So you don’t have to do that. But no one’s going to hurt you, Naas, you’re okay. You are. Look, I felt the Force once, and I’m okay.”

But it is not allowed. It’s a defect. They can’t. “I  _ can’t,  _ sir,” he says, because it all  _ hurts _ again, the headache and the stomach and the electricity on his skin. “I can’t, I’m not a  _ traitor,  _ Rex.”

“No, you’re not. ‘Course you’re not.”

Orikih meows and scrabbles at his fingers, and he’s holding her too tight, so he loosens his grip, starts scratching her head. “They’re going to  _ take me.” _

“No.” The Captain shakes his head, and he doesn’t lie, Naas knows that. Right?

There’s another hand on his shoulder and  _ no, go away, _ but he twists around fast and it’s just Brii. Brii is good. “No one’s even gonna  _ try,”  _ Brii says, serious. “You’re 501st now, Naas, you’re gonna be fine.”

He is… is not. He doesn’t… he can’t… He turns back around, drops his face against Captain Rex’s shoulder (just blacks, they’re not supposed to just be in blacks, not supposed to, but, he is fine), and shakes hard and pets Orikih.

He did  _ not.  _ He can’t have. He is a  _ good soldier,  _ not defective.

He doesn’t want to leave his battalion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mando'a translations:**
> 
>  
> 
>  _ne'tra:_ black
> 
>  _orikih:_ tiny (literally, extra small ^-^)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Back with some cool lore and relationship angst! A reminder: the Usturae are our creation and if you want to use them in any way please talk to us first.
> 
> Everything will be okay, we promise. Our son is just having Issues. (All of them are tbh)

The troopers guarding the entrance to the Jedi Temple are  _ surprised, _ she’s sure, to see her tearing past them in sleepclothes and no boots, but she ignores them. Sprints through the halls, ignoring the irritated shouts after her by the Knights and Masters she nearly bowls over as she runs.

They don’t matter.

There’s something far, far worse than incurring the ire of a few Jedi.

The Council is in the middle of a private meeting when Ahsoka slams through the doors, panting; she ignores that, too, ignores the confused looks (and the amused ones, from the Masters who read her shirt), stammers out, “Master Obi-Wan, there’s an Ustura.”

And  _ everyone _ freezes.

“Are you sure?” Obi-Wan asks, very quietly, standing, and she nods, wide-eyed. He looks thoughtful, says, “Naas?”

How did he  _ know? _ “Yeah,” she rasps, says, “We have to  _ go, _ I--I didn’t mean to, but I scared him and--” they need to go  _ now. _

“Come with you, I will,” Master Yoda says, and Master Windu stands as well, both looking concerned.

**_“No,”_ ** Obi-Wan says, too-fast and sharp, and then takes a deep breath and breathes out and he feels  _ calmer, _ suddenly. “No, you will just panic him more, Masters. I will go. Please comm Master Vos and inform him of this development.” And he pauses, then adds, “Kalifa, stop eavesdropping and meet me outside.”

Ahsoka turns on her heel, rushes out the door, nearly slams into Kalifa--oops--and forces herself to wait as Obi-Wan stops and says, “Listen to me very carefully, Kalifa. In our quarters, under my bed, there is a chest containing a lightsaber, a cloak, and a journal. I need you to bring me that journal, and meet me at the 501st’s barracks, as quickly as you can.”

Kalifa nods, though she looks  _ unsure, _ and darts off.

“Come on, Master,” Ahsoka begs, twisting her fingers into her shirt. “He--I  _ scared him.” _

“I understand,” Obi-Wan says, and starts walking, quickly. “Let’s go, then.”

Everything feels too  _ slow, _ her heart pounding and legs aching and lungs burning and she runs after him, prays (pleads, begs, hopes) silently she isn’t too late.

~~~

Naas is  _ breathing  _ normally again, finally; Rex thinks it helps that he set up a bit of a guard, for him, because even though they don’t need it, Naas does. He’s refused to let go of Naas, although now they’re just sitting on his bunk, and Rex only has one arm around his shoulders. Rex thinks even the  _ cat  _ is concerned; all his  _ vode  _ are as tense as cornered wolves.

He doesn’t understand what’s  _ happening,  _ only that this is worse than just Naas being scared about the Force (that would be bad enough on its own, he thinks), because Ahsoka had been completely  _ terrified.  _ Had asked about headaches and a fever, like… Rex thinks of Mortis.

Kix has never complained of either thing, Anakin and Ahsoka didn’t react like this to Kix having the Force, so something else has to be going on.

At least Naas is calmer. Brii showed him some sketches and then left him with a pencil and the near-empty sketchbook that Rex gave him. Naas is not exactly  _ drawing,  _ but he’s scribbling shapes with a shaky hand, so Rex thinks it’s helping a little.

Ahsoka hasn’t even  _ commed  _ him.

When the barracks doors hiss open, to their credit, Rex’s whole little squad snaps to alert, ready stances in front of he and Naas, and Rex pulls his  _ vod’ika  _ even tighter against him because he feels him  _ tense. _ “It’s okay,” he says gently. “It’s okay, I promised, didn’t I?”

Naas shakes his head, reflexively, then goes even  _ more  _ still, just stony, just shivering, eyes  _ wide,  _ and Rex understands.

Because Ahsoka came back with General Kenobi and his padawan. And sure, maybe that’s good, but right now Naas’ breathing has hitched up, faster, and he’s grabbing at Rex’s blacks, so Rex grips his shoulder, tight, says softly, “He was there when Cody killed Krell. He didn't take Cody away, so he’s not going to take you. It’s okay. It’s just to help.”

“I don’t need- I’m not-  _ Rex.” _

“It’s gonna be fine. Look, I’m right here.”

Kenobi’s eyes flit over the scene, land on Rex and Naas, and Rex sees a visible shift from deep concern to  _ calm,  _ quiet. He  _ feels  _ it, too, a wash of  _ peace  _ that he knows well enough to know is also Light, is warm, like when the Daughter fit armor around his mind on Mortis.

“Rex,” Kenobi says,  _ soft  _ although his voice carries, “Can your guard let me through?”

Je’kai turns a little, gives Rex almost a warning look, a pleading one too, and Rex looks straight at Naas, meets and holds his horrified eyes. “I  _ promise  _ he’s safe, Naas.”

Naas shakes his head, hard.  _ “Nayc, gedet’ye,”  _ he pleads, small.

_ “Gar jate, ner’vod’ika.”  _ Rex signals to his  _ vode,  _ and they back off, still stay close and protective, and he loves them for that.

He meets General Kenobi’s eyes, nods a little.  _ Please be careful of my vod’ika. _ Kenobi nods back, starts walking slow and careful towards them, talking off-handedly to Kalifa (who looks scared, herself). “Thank you for getting the book, Kalifa; could I have it now?”

She hands it over and Kenobi walks till he's a couple meters away (and Naas is pressed  _ tight _ against Rex’s side, holding Orikih tight against his chest with one hand), then gets down into a low crouch and says, very gently, “Hello, Naas - is it okay if I call you by your name?”

Naas looks up at Rex, who smiles as encouragingly as he can. He doesn't  _ understand,  _ but General Kenobi can fix this, can make it right.

“I… You don't have to, sir,” Naas says, in a tone that sounds like he wishes Kenobi wouldn't.

“Okay.” Kenobi actually adjusts himself and settles down onto his knees on the floor, still a safe distance away; Kalifa gives Rex and Kenobi both an odd look and then also drops down to sit cross-legged. “My friend Ahsoka says you’re very good with your cat,” Kenobi says.

Naas looks around like he doesn't know what to do with that, then down at Orikih. He shrugs, shakes harder. “She likes me,” he whispers.

“I see why.” Kenobi smiles. “How did you call her back to you so easily?”

Naas grabs onto the back of Rex’s shirt with his free hand, and Rex rubs his shoulder gently, meets Ahsoka’s eyes where she's hovering several meters behind Kenobi. She looks even more scared than he feels. “I just- she  _ likes  _ me,” he insists, shaky. “I didn't do anything, she just-” He stops and swallows, hard.

“You called her back to you with the Force,” Kenobi says,  _ impossibly  _ warm and kind, and there's another flood of calm. “Did you know you did?”

“No!” Naas shakes his head,  _ hard. _

_ “Udesii,” _ Rex says, low and quiet.

“I  _ don't have that,  _ I'm not defective, sir, I can't have,” Naas pleads, and Kenobi leans back, looks down and thumbs open his book with a small smile on his face.

Gods, he's so damn _serene. Jedi._ _General Kenobi,_ more like.

~~~

Kalifa settles herself more comfortably on the floor, adjusting her clothes and leaning forward a little, curious about the book.

The chest had been right where her Master had said it would be, under the bed; the lightsaber had  _ hummed, _ when she’d brushed against it, had felt  _ warm _ to the touch, like it was alive under her fingertips, and she’d almost,  _ almost _ grabbed it too. Except the urgency in her Master’s mind and voice had hurried her along--but she thinks she’ll be back. (She doesn’t think the kyber crystal will let her leave it alone.)

Her Master sits so, so calm, although  _ she _ can feel an undercurrent of anxiety and fear humming through his thoughts, far below the surging, warm  _ Light _ he’s projecting onto everyone and everything, heavy and bright and  _ soft. _

Kalifa doesn’t know what to  _ do. _

They’d said something about  _ Ustura, _ and Kalifa doesn’t know what that is, but her Master is afraid and she’d looked at Ahsoka and  _ Ahsoka _ looks  _ panicked, _ like she had when the mist came on the island, or when Rex had said goodbye. So if it’s bad enough to scare  _ Ahsoka, _ then… then Kalifa thinks she should be scared, too.

“Having the Force isn’t a defect,” her Master says, quiet, calm,  _ so calm, _ and Kalifa twists her fingers together and looks over at Ahsoka again. She still looks so, so  _ scared. _

“It’s a  _ mistake,” _ the clone, Naas apparently, says, shaking his head again. “Good soldiers don’t have it.  _ I  _ don’t.”

Hmm. Kalifa thinks  _ that’s _ banthashit.

“What about Kix?” Master Obi-Wan asks, very gentle. “He has it, and  _ he _ is still a good soldier, and a good medic, too.” He pauses, flips a page in his book, says, almost  _ casually, _ “Did you know you can heal things with the Force?”

The trooper doesn’t say a word.

Kalifa frowns a little, unsure--he feels--so  _ strange, _ in the Force.  _ Wrong, _ almost,  _ impossible, _ two things at once.

“It’s how I helped your Captain, on Umbara,” her Master continues, reading through a scrawl of barely-legible handwriting (and there’s a flash of fondness for  _ oh, Qui-Gon, _ across the training bond). “It’s called Force healing. I could teach you, if you like--I’ll be teaching Kix the same thing.”

_ “No!” _ Naas says, hurriedly, shaking his head. “No, I’m not--I won’t.”

“Alright,” Master Obi-Wan says, calmly,  _ so _ calmly, projecting again, she thinks. “You don’t have to. You don’t need to do anything you don’t  _ want _ to do.” He sits there for a moment, turns a page, and then nods to himself. Looks up and leans forward, earnest but still so  _ quiet, _ still a safe distance away. “Your head hurts, doesn’t it? All those emotions tumbling around inside your mind, that don’t belong to you,” and she feels a sudden stab of  _ pain _ across their training bond as he realizes something, and he swallows hard, takes a deep breath. “I can help with that, if you’ll let me--I can teach you how to shield, put up shields of my own, so that you’ll be alone in your head. Would you like that? It will feel easier, I promise.”

~~~

Naas shivers, stares at Kenobi, who is… is  _ better. _ Who is not staring at him, is sitting on the floor small and comfortable, is holding a small crinkled book and saying… saying he knows how it  _ hurts. _ Saying he could  _ help. _

“By myself?” he rasps. “I could… They would go away?”

The General looks up, smiles, and the skin around his eyes crinkles, but Naas. Wants to run. But the General seems… seems…

And he  _ feels. Better. _

“Yes,” he says.  _ Better.  _ “You won't be able to feel them like you can now, unless you want to.”

It  _ hurts,  _ now. Always, almost. But he does not want to- cannot- he  _ does not have the Force. _

Orikih nuzzles against his hand and Rex has his arm solid around his shoulders and Kix is seated a few bunks away (used the Force) and General Kenobi just looks… looks, looks, looks  _ warm. _

“Okay,” he whispers. He wants. He wants to not feel all  _ this  _ anymore.

“Can I come closer?” Kenobi says, looking back down at his book. “It will be easier if I can.”

Naas looks at Rex, who smiles at him and nods, and Naas can't see any lie in Rex’s eyes. So. He nods.

Still, when General Kenobi gets up and starts towards him, he scoots back fast, even though Rex's arm stops him. The General kneels back down right in front of him, reaches up with one hand, and. and. and. No. “It will be easier,” Kenobi says.

Oh, he can't, he can't.

But he lets the General settle a hand on his arm (Orikih nuzzles him, which is… good?), and then Kenobi closes his eyes and it is all quiet.

And he feels another  _ person  _ in his  _ head,  _ and Kenobi said he'd be  _ alone  _ but now he's there, in his thoughts,  _ go away. _

_ It's okay, I'm going to leave,  _ Kenobi  _ says.  _ In his  _ head. _

Then he feels… distance. Sudden  _ silence. _

And it, it, it doesn't  _ hurt.  _ Something feels  _ better. _ There is… it is all  _ less. _

Oh, oh. He has never, never been this… it has never been so  _ quiet.  _ Hurt so little.

~~~

Naas’ mind is ash and smoke.

There is little of  _ substance, _ here, there is nothing to  _ burn, _ and yet there is a fire somewhere all the same, shimmering in the air, rippling and warping everything into crystal around him--it is not a  _ shield, _ per se, but it is… a type of defense, Obi-Wan thinks, twisting and hiding and  _ altering. _

The Force feels strange, too, thick and viscous and syrupy, almost, molasses in winter, weighing him down with every not-real breath, and he swims through it, commands it sternly,  _ let me through. _

_ He is ours, _ whisper a multitude of rushing voices, like snakes hissing in concert,  _ ours ours ours, soon he will snap and we will have him and-- _

Obi-Wan reaches for the Light, pulses it strong and bright through the swirling currents, pushing back the encroaching, hungry Dark, tells it,  _ he is not for you, _ pushes it  _ out. _ Light and shields, Qui-Gon’s journal says, and that is what Obi-Wan will do, then. Light and shields. Shields to keep the Force from being so…  _ heavy, _ so strongly burning; Light to keep away the Dark, which rips and tears, wild and chaotic as it is. Obi-Wan thinks the Dark  _ loves _ Usturae, as uncontrolled and uncontrollable as they are. 

He thinks the Sith would like them, too.

Obi-Wan slots shields into place, strong ones, and the waves of the Force buffet them, batter them, but they hold, which is--good. He hopes he won’t have to renew them, but with the strength of the Force… he is not sure.

Naas feels  _ better, _ he thinks, calmer at least, and the shields are holding, so Obi-Wan carefully pulls back, blinks himself back into his body, takes a few steadying breaths and removes his hand from the trooper’s arm. “There,” he says, and he’s surprised his voice is  _ hoarse, _ a bit. Raspy. It should not take that much effort to put up simple shields--but fighting the Force itself the entire way… that is another story altogether.

Naas does not speak, just leans into Rex some and nods a little, avoids Obi-Wan’s eyes. His little loth-cat squirms in his hands, meows, and Obi-Wan smiles, sighs, scoots back and settles onto his heels, says lightly, “The pain comes from suppressing the Force,” conversationally, closing Qui-Gon’s journal and handing it back to Kalifa with a small smile. “As for the rest of it… I believe you are highly empathic, more so than most Jedi. The Force flows through all things, and all living things are connected to the Force. In time, if one can learn to  _ listen, _ one can feel the shape of all living beings’ emotions and thoughts. Some are more naturally gifted in this matter than others.” He pushes himself to his feet, a bit wearily--the Council meeting had been long and tiring, and now  _ this. _

And there are sure to be more meetings after this, to discuss what must be done.

“If I may, I need to steal Captain Rex and Je’kai for a few moments. Is that alright?”

~~~

Rex pushes himself upright, slowly, but Naas grabs his arm, eyes wide, and Rex sighs and smiles. “Hey Brii and Alpha, you wanna hang out with Naas while I’m gone?” Both of his  _ vode  _ hurry over, and after another second, Naas lets go of his arm. “I’ll be back, Naas, and it’ll be alright. Okay?”

Naas nods, anxiously, and Rex joins Je’kai, follows Kenobi and Kalifa while General Kenobi tunes his wristcomm, presumably to call Anakin. Rex goes up to Ahsoka and pulls her against his chest, buries his face in her montrals. He doesn’t really  _ understand,  _ still, and he wants to, wants to know that Naas will be alright. “What’s going on?” he murmurs, pulls back and slides his hand down to tangle in hers so they can rush out of the barracks behind General Kenobi, who’s clearly not wasting any time.

“I think Obi-Wan’s gonna explain in a minute, but…” Ahsoka sighs. “Usturae happen when someone really, really represses the Force. They’re dangerous.”

Rex frowns. He  _ promised  _ Naas no one would take him, but if he’s dangerous, somehow,  _ then  _ what? If whatever it is is enough to scare his Jedi and General Kenobi like this, what are they going to do about it? “And what do the Jedi do to Usturae?”

They appear to be heading for the Temple, which would make sense, and Kalifa keeps glancing back at Ahsoka.

“I don’t know, Rex, as far as I know there hasn’t been a living one that hasn’t snapped in a long time.” Ahsoka squeezes his hand, lightly.

_ Snapped.  _ Rex doesn’t  _ understand,  _ but he does not want to lose Naas, does not want his  _ vod’ika  _ (so  _ very  _ small, this brother) to  _ break. _ “I’m going to help him,” he says determinedly, although his history of helping with matters involving the Force is… not good.

They walk into the Temple (which is one of Rex’s least favorite places to be; their Jedi get  _ strange,  _ in here), the cool halls almost immediately making him feel like he has to be  _ silent. _ Je’kai is walking so close to him that Rex thinks he almost wants to grab onto him; he needs reassurance, Rex thinks, so he turns and smiles at Je’kai a little.

He’s never been to the room that Kenobi takes them to, at least, he doesn’t recognize the simple doors - and when Kenobi  _ opens  _ them, he knows he’s definitely never been here. They’re all rows and rows of glowing blue, and furthest back, what look like books; there are tables and desks and holotables and a few droids puttering around helpfully.

And General Skywalker rushing towards them, so visibly worried. “Master, what the  _ kriff _ is going on?”

“It seems that you have picked up an Ustura with your new troopers, Anakin,” Kenobi says tensely, tugs free from Anakin’s grip and keeps walking, back toward a row of blue holos. Rex sticks with him, smiles a little to himself at Anakin’s swearing.

“Yeah, gonna need more details than that,” Anakin snaps.

“I’m working on it,” Kenobi says, smoothly, slips into a row of holos and starts looking around. Rex rubs his head, shoots another smile over at Je’kai who is, predictably, not doing the  _ best. _

Since they’re in the Jedi Temple library. With three Jedi. And more in the room, Rex is sure.

If this weren’t so important, he suspects Kenobi would not have asked Je’kai to come too.

~~~

Ahsoka keeps her fingers threaded tightly through Rex’s, tucking herself into his side, as they follow Obi-Wan and Anakin through the library. Obi-Wan is striding through the shelves like he’s on a mission, muttering something under his breath; he stops in front of a section, reaches up and pulls out a holonovel, nodding to himself. “We should sit down,” he says calmly, running his fingers over his beard, thoughtful. “There is a sitting area over in the corner,” and he starts walking.

Ahsoka leans a little more into Rex’s side and follows her Masters over to the small sitting area--just a few stuffed chairs and couches around some tables, clearly designed for reading and researching. She tugs Rex over to one of the cushy chairs, pushes him to sit down and then drops into his lap, curling tight against his chest, watching. Anakin takes another chair, Je’kai awkwardly settles onto the end of a couch, and Kalifa sprawls on her stomach next to Je’kai. She doesn’t seem to notice how the trooper goes tense, rigid, stiff.

“Naas,” Obi-Wan begins, settling into a chair and setting the holonovel down on the table next to him, his journal on his lap, “is what we call an Ustura. They are Force-sensitives who refuse to accept their sensitivity, and thus the Force begins to burn them up from the inside out.” He pauses, opens the journal and starts paging through it, carefully, and Ahsoka picks up the narration.

Focuses on Rex and Je’kai, but mainly Rex, as she does. “We learn about them in Initiate classes. We  _ think  _ they’re rare--well, at least, it’s rare that they… snap. We think. We don’t  _ actually _ know--people don’t tend to survive it, if they do.”

“Master Vos did.” Obi-Wan takes a slow breath, in, continues on the exhale. “Barely.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause.

Then he continues. “My Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, was always very interested in Usturae. He spent much of his time researching them, though much of what we know comes from legends. All of his notes are in this journal, including the method he used to save one young Ustura he met once… I don’t know if it will work for Naas, but it’s all that we have.” He stops, sighs, looks down at the journal again.

“What happens if they…  _ snap,” _ Rex asks, not  _ quite  _ a question, and Ahsoka tightens her arms around him and shifts closer, swallowing.

Obi-Wan swallows hard, says, softly, “The only person we know to survive is Master Vos. There are… stories. Whole cities,  _ armies _ destroyed. Demons that tear apart entire civilizations and burn themselves to ash in the fires. We believe they… become a conduit for a powerful Force storm.” He sighs, scrubs a hand over his face. “I have asked the Council to comm Master Vos, requesting that he return to Coruscant immediately. He has some experience in these matters--he is the only Jedi at the moment who is taking an interest in the Usturae.”

Ahsoka tucks her head underneath Rex’s chin, careful, presses her cheek into his chest, twists her fingers into his blacks. Because if they can’t--stop this, if they can’t figure it out, then… then either Naas has to die… or half of Coruscant might.

~~~

“And you're telling me  _ Naas  _ is one of those?” Rex asks, sharp. “I don't understand. What  _ happens,  _ why would he become dangerous?” He doesn't know enough, here, does not  _ understand. _ Except that  _ this  _ is why he does not trust the Force.

Kenobi leans a bit forward, his hand resting on the little journal that belonged to his Master. “Do you remember how it felt on Mortis, Rex, before we helped you?”

The pressure and pain in his head and skittering arc of energy against,  _ inside of,  _ his skin, heat and  _ knowledge _ and entirely  _ too much.  _ “Yes, sir,” he says, shaking his head.

“That is what Naas has felt, all the time, because he is ignoring his sensitivity to the Force,” Kenobi says. “That is what it feels like when the Force burns someone. And he keeps making it worse. If he does not learn to accept it, the danger, then, is of him losing control… If he becomes too panicked or angry, the Force will take advantage and hollow him out - we believe they are taken over completely, although our stories are somewhat unreliable.

“Quinlan Vos made one of them angry, once, and the man broke. He leveled an entire mountainside, a village and the forests there.”

Rex sits back, slowly, considering. So. It seems that the GAR taking Naas is the  _ least  _ of his concerns. His  _ vod’ika  _ a threat - it doesn't seem possible, but then, “He threw Beten away from him, after Ahsoka went to get you, General. I calmed him down but he was panicking.” Rex thinks maybe he should tell Kenobi about the yellow ring around Naas’ pupils, when Rex had pushed through to him, how it had gone away when Rex pulled him into his arms. “Do you remember, sir, on Mortis, when Ahsoka was taken over by the Son,” and he barely stops himself from adding  _ and General Skywalker joined him,  _ because they can never talk about what Anakin did, since he somehow forgot. Ahsoka shifts on his lap, and he rubs her back, gentle. “Her eyes were yellow. When Naas panicked his eyes started- I don't know, they got yellow in them too.”

Kenobi looks  _ alarmed.  _ “But you calmed him down,” he says, not quite a question.

“Yes,” Rex says, carefully. “He's alright, now.”

Kenobi sighs, long and weary. “We cannot risk panicking him again. Rex, perhaps it would be best if, for now, we Jedi were to refrain from entering the barracks without comming you first?”

Rex nods. “I think that would be good, sir.”

Ahsoka tightens her grip on his blacks. “Master, do you think it's safe?” Rex thinks he understands why she's asking, suspects she does not like that her access to the barracks is even  _ more  _ limited now. His  _ vode  _ are her men, and he is… Well. Important to her, too.

“I don't know,” Kenobi says, deadly serious. “Safe? Not quite. But if we are very careful, we may be able to help him. I think perhaps when I discuss a few things with Kix, I will explain all this to him so he can help better, as well.”

They  _ will  _ help Naas. Rex isn't entirely sure how, but he's not letting his  _ vod’ika  _ lose himself, not letting this all go so wrong. It's just fear, really, isn't it? Just helping him not be afraid. Because Rex can do that, he's sure, can help him know he's  _ safe  _ here.

As for the rest… He doesn’t know what he’ll do for everything else. But he does know he’s not going to let Naas down. He will not.

~~~

The conversation seems to be over, for the most part; Anakin doesn’t look very pleased, and he’s already haranguing Obi-Wan for more details. Ahsoka doesn’t want to  _ move, _ doesn’t want to have to get up and be  _ alone _ again. She’s missed Rex, she doesn’t want him to  _ leave _ again.

“Come on, ‘Soka,” Rex says lightly, nudging her, and she huffs, tucks her head into the curve of his neck and grumbles at him. She wants to stay  _ here, _ with him, where she’s warm and comfy and safe. “I know a place we can go sit and talk, but I need to stop by the barracks first.”

She huffs, mumbles, “Fine,” into his neck, but doesn’t quite make an effort to move. Not yet. She’ll just… let herself have another couple of seconds. That’s all.

“‘Soka,” he repeats, wryly. “That means you gotta move.”

Ahsoka sighs, unfolds herself and stands up, pouting at him. “I was  _ comfy, _ Rex.”

“Yes, I know,  _ cyar’ika,” _ he says wryly, standing and taking her hand, tugging her into his side.

Je’kai looks… distinctly uncomfortable. And also somewhat amused? He pushes himself to his feet, says, carefully, “I take it we’re dismissed?”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka says lightly. “They won’t even notice us go.”

Je’kai doesn’t look too pleased, like he’s not sure that’s smart, but he follows her and Rex anyway as they head towards the barracks. She lets Rex set the pace, keeps herself tucked into his side, only pulls away when they step into the barracks, because he wants to see Naas and she wants her blanket back. So she goes over to Rex’s bunk, busies herself with folding the blanket up and curling it around her shoulders, and then she waits.

She can’t really approach Naas, she thinks. She’ll scare him more and then--and then it won’t be good, and it won’t be safe, and there’s nothing she can do to protect any of them if he snaps.

~~~

Brii and Alpha and Naas are all sitting in a small circle on the floor in the barracks, with Brii’s two sketchbooks laid out in between them, and Brii was talking when they came in, although now they’re all a bit quiet - Naas is following Ahsoka with his eyes, timid. Rex goes over and raises an eyebrow; Brii is sketching something in his fancier sketchbook, and Naas and Alpha  _ appear  _ to be trying to imitate it on opposite pages of Brii’s other book.

“What are you doing?” he asks, curiously, and Naas’ attention snaps back to him, and he covers up his page of sketches with charcoal-stained fingers.

“We… Brii thought…” Naas flushes, shakes his head and looks down, so Alpha explains, cheerfully.

“I thought Brii should teach us how to draw something,” he says. “So we’re trying to draw Orikih.”

Rex smiles. “That’s good. Doing alright, Naas?”

Naas shrugs. He’s put the rest of his armor back on, but Orikih has managed to balance on his shoulder nonetheless, her tail whipping back and forth as she wobbles in place, scrabbling at his smooth pauldron with near-ineffective claws. “It’s not very good,” he says, which wasn’t what Rex was asking, but it’s a neutral topic, anyway. He pulls his hands away from his sketch and dusts his hands together, which doesn’t do anything but smear charcoal further into his palms.

“It’s better than I could do,” Rex says, gruffly, patting Naas’ shoulder. Je’kai walks over to them too, and Rex straightens with a small sigh. “I’ve got one more thing to do, boys, then I’ll be back. Try not to get charcoal  _ everywhere.” _

“No promises!” Alpha says comfortably, gesturing carelessly with his pencil, and Rex huffs and turns away. Naas seems better now, at least, between his new cat and his _ vode. _

Ahsoka is wrapped up in her blanket on his bunk, shoulders hunched forward, and Rex thinks she looks very tired and worried. Maybe… guilty, too. He goes up to her, smiles when she looks up at him. “Ready to go, ‘Soka?”

She nods, scoots up off the bunk, and Rex tucks his arm around her shoulders, eyes his armor. He wants it (he was in the  _ Jedi Temple  _ in his  _ blacks,  _ gods), but he wants to be  _ close _ now. So he just leaves the armor, walks with her out of the barracks.

In the medbay, adjoining the ward where most of Rex’s men are being treated, there’s a little waiting room of sorts with couches and caf and extra blankets and things. That is where Rex takes Ahsoka now, carefully weaving past bunks of injured in the medbay to get to the comfort of the little room, which is  _ quiet _ and empty, and they settle onto a couch and Ahsoka lays down on her back with her blanket over her, her head on his lap.

~~~

Ahsoka lets out a soft sigh as Rex settles a hand on one montral, drops his other hand to her headtail and swirls his fingers across the bands of color.  _ Force, _ she’s missed this, missed being  _ close _ like this.

She looks up at him, meets his eyes (warm, golden, soft, electricity trapped in crystal), says quietly, “I’m sorry, Rex.”

“Why?” he asks, equally soft, and she swallows, closes her eyes. Doesn’t want to see the expression in them.

“I… it’s my fault Naas panicked,” she breathes, haltingly, swallows again and twists her fingers into her blanket. “Because I couldn’t sleep, so I… came down. Even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to. And I scared everyone, but him especially.”

“Maybe so,” and he shifts his hand from her montral to her forehead, tracing her markings lightly with one finger. “But this way, at least we know what’s wrong with him so we can help.”

“I guess…” She sighs, pushes herself to sit up, twists around so she can crawl onto his lap and tuck her head against his collarbone. “But you’re--right, I’m not supposed to be there. Because they’re afraid of me.”

Her men have never been  _ afraid _ of her before.

Even after Christophsis, when they barely knew her, the troops had all gathered around to listen to her story of saving Anakin’s life, had laughed in all the right spots. She almost--doesn’t know what to  _ do, _ how to  _ act, _ around them if they don’t… don’t trust her. How is she supposed to--

She swallows, curls herself more into Rex’s chest and tries to  _ breathe, _ not to worry. It’ll be--fine, she doesn’t… need to--she will be fine being away from her men (her  _ friends) _ for a few weeks until she isn’t risking so much to see them. (But being away from  _ Rex _ that long? No. She doesn’t think  _ that _ will be “fine”.)

~~~

“They aren’t all afraid of you,” Rex says, gently. “And you know it’s not your fault.” It’s  _ Krell’s.  _ Krell’s fault they’re afraid, Krell’s fault Naas is too scared to admit he has the Force, Krell’s fault he can’t karking  _ sleep. _

“I should’ve been there for you guys,” Ahsoka says, resting a hand against his side and tracing her thumb back and forth, almost anxiously.

“You would’ve been, if you could have.” But she wasn’t, and that’s no one’s fault. Except perhaps the Chancellor’s, and Rex can hardly fault him for wanting to be sure he can trust the Jedi sent to protect him. “You and the General did your best.”

There is only so much any of them can do to protect each other. Rex should be better at accepting that for himself - but if he can’t do that, he can try to get Ahsoka to believe him. What was she supposed to do, ignore Anakin and stay behind anyway?

Gods, he doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if she  _ had _ stayed and seen what Krell was, if she had tried to defy him (because she would). He’s glad the general never got anywhere near his Jedi.

“Maybe we  _ did our best,”  _ and she can’t  _ do this _ again, it doesn’t  _ help,  _ “but it wasn’t good enough. I knew something was wrong, but I left anyway. I didn’t even try to stay.”

“You did try,” Rex sighs, “But I told you, ‘Soka, if trying isn’t good enough, then you figure out how to live with it.”

“‘Do or do not,’” she starts, and he clenches his jaw a little. “‘There is no try.’”

She’s said that before - apparently Master Yoda says that.

“That’s not  _ right,  _ Ahsoka,” he says, stiffly. It is  _ not. _ Because then what does that make  _ him? _ Who’s lost so many  _ vode  _ because he couldn’t do  _ enough,  _ who’s had to dig for reasons time and again why it’s not  _ wrong  _ that he lived while his brothers died. “What does that  _ mean,  _ ‘Soka, actually?” he asks, sharply, fisting his hand against the side of his leg. “So, what, if I try and it’s not enough then I’ve  _ failed? _ I’ve spent my whole life keeping myself sane by telling myself I  _ did my best  _ because I’ve got nothing  _ else, _ and if Master Yoda’s right then I don’t even have that.”

~~~

Ahsoka pulls her head far enough back from Rex’s chest that she can stare up at him, worried and unsure. “I don’t--” and she stops, because he--to an extent he’s  _ right _ and--and she shakes her head, sounds small and confused even to her own montrals. “I don’t  _ know, _ Rex, it’s--what I was raised with. I don’t--I should have  _ been there, _ to protect you, Rex, that’s what it  _ means, _ you told me that, and I promised--”

She cuts herself off, because she hadn’t  _ meant _ to reveal that, but… kriff it all. Because she  _ had, _ she’d promised Cody she’d protect him and then she wasn’t  _ there _ and he got  _ hurt _ (not physically, no, but he hurts all the same and she can’t  _ help him _ and she wants… she wants to make it  _ better) _ and she failed him.

“Well, you  _ weren’t,” _ he says, and damn it all to hells, she  _ knows that! _ “You can’t always be, that’s not possible. I’m glad you want to. I’m glad you always try to. But you  _ can’t _ always protect me.”

Ahsoka closes her eyes, presses her face back into his collarbone, swallows hard. He’s right and she hates that he’s right, hates that she  _ won’t _ always be there, because what happens when she  _ isn’t _ there and real  _ danger _ strikes and--Force. “I’m  _ sorry,” _ she chokes out, holds tighter to him with one arm, twists the fingers of her other hand into his blacks. Tries to breathe, in and out, in and out. “I love you, Rex.”

“I know,” he says, soft. “I love you too.” He slides both arms around her, runs one hand up and down her back headtail, warm and reassuring, and it feels  _ nice, _ feels like home and safety, and she lets out a shuddering breath. Shifts her head up a bit, tilts so she can press a light kiss to his neck, gentle and lingering, and then tucks her forehead into the hollow there that almost seems like it was made to fit her face.

“You did good, on Umbara,” she rasps out, tightening her arm around him. “You--did the right thing.” 

~~~

“I know I did.” Rex sighs, tightens his grip on her and focuses on the texture of her headtails, considering. Yeah, he knows. He has not regretted turning on Krell even once. But, other things - he regrets many other things. “It would… have been better if I had done it sooner.”

She kisses his neck again, feather-light, and hums softly. “Maybe, maybe not. Force only knows.”

Rex knows. If he had done something sooner, he would not have killed  _ brothers. _ Would not have killed Cody’s men, would not have had to see Waxer die in pain, would not- he can’t think about this again. It makes it all too hard, makes him see black and sickly red and green and white-turned-grey against the ground, makes him hear his brothers crying like he never has before and never wants to again, and all this because he was afraid. Because everything he learned was not enough to make him stand against Krell.

Because his brothers’ suffering was not enough until he  _ killed his own vode.  _ Brii’s sketchbook, the number’s, Je’kai’s stories, Fives with a saber at his throat, incompetent, deadly orders to march where they could not win, leaving behind his wounded to die, an  _ execution order _ \- these things were not enough to move him.

And that is the crux of it, in a way, that he did not care enough about his  _ vode  _ to take that risk for them. Not until it was too late, until Krell made them do what they never, never, never would.

If he were a good Captain, if he were a good  _ man,  _ he would not have  _ accepted  _ so  _ much. _

“That's what I have to do now, Ahsoka. Live with it, with what I chose to do.” Or not to do, much of the time.

“I know.” He can feel her lips move against his neck. “I understand. But you did good.”

“Yeah.” He can't think about this. It makes him too unsure, makes him wonder what he could have done to save them, if he should have done differently, what would have happened if he had. Makes him question his motives and reasoning and every damn choice he made, so it's just easier not to think. So. “I need to figure out how to help Naas.” Besides just  _ not scaring him. _

She shrugs a little, tapping her fingers on his collarbone. “I don't- He has to accept the Force, I guess, to use it… Obi-Wan will know what to do.”

Rex really hopes that's true; General Kenobi usually figures these things out, but what if he does not?  “Well, that’s helpful,” he teases, dropping his hand from her headtail to her shoulder blade, earning a grumble of displeasure and a stab of her finger against his shoulder. “I should ask  _ him,  _ but I’m not sure he would have a better answer.”

~~~

“Maybe it’ll be better,” Ahsoka says, tilting her forehead into his neck, “but you probably won’t understand half of it.” His hand is still on her shoulder and she grumbles more, pokes him again. Why does he always  _ move his hand _ like that? Stupid.

“I  _ never _ understand when you Jedi start talking philosophy, you know,” he hums, wrapping her up more in his arms and tugging her tighter against his chest. Which is nice,  _ safe, _ warm and good, and she lets out a soft sigh of contentment.

“Don’t worry, Rex,” she mumbles into his neck. “Neither do I.”

He laughs, rumbling and vibrating deep in his chest and through her whole body. “You’re probably gonna have to figure it out at some point.”

She pulls her free hand off his shoulder and flips a crude gesture at him, except that makes her blanket slide off her arm, and that’s  _ dumb. _ She can’t grab it without pulling back from Rex, which she does  _ not _ want to do, but now she’s  _ cold. _ She pouts into his neck, returning her hand to his shoulder with a huff, and then Rex pulls one arm back, what the  _ kriff? _

Before she can complain about that, though, he’s tucking her blanket back around her, and she hums happily as he returns his arm to its  _ proper position. _ “That’s why I keep you around, y’know,” she tells him mock-seriously. “For warmth and free cuddles.”

“Oh, you thought these were  _ free _ cuddles?” Rex asks, sounding a bit too mischievous for his own good. “I’m afraid I charge for this. Since I have to pay for  _ stupidly expensive sketchbooks.” _

Ahsoka picks her head up and shifts back to  _ look _ up at him, says archly, “And what’s your price, my Captain?”

He leans down, close enough that she almost thinks he’s going to kiss her, which would be--nice, actually, except then he just  _ smirks _ (which is  _ so unfair, _ holy  _ kriffing _ hells) and says, low and growly  _ (double _ unfair), “One hundred credits.” And then he leans back and grins down at her,  _ far _ too smug for his own good.

Stupid--ugh. She grumbles at him, snakes her free arm around the back of his neck, slipping her fingers into his hair, and tugs him down so she can kiss him  _ herself, _ because that smirk is karking  _ deadly _ and it is  _ not fair _ of him to smirk at her and then  _ not kiss her, _ the kriff, Rexter? He pulls back and rolls his eyes at her a little, sighs, “So predictable,” and she grumbles and pulls her hand free from his hair to tap her pointer finger against his lips.

“Shush,” she tells him, very seriously. “I don’t pay  _ credits _ for cuddles, but I’m sure we can figure out an appropriate  _ exchange rate,” _ and she pulls her hand back so she can kiss him again, lightly, on the corner of his mouth.

“Sounds like an awful lot of negotiating,” he says, but there’s a smile hovering on the corner of his lips and  _ hmph, _ he’s being  _ stupid. _

“I can be reasonable,” she assures him, runs her fingers through his hair and in little swirls. “You know, Jedi are supposed to be  _ great _ negotiators.”

Rex looks down at her, thoughtful. “I don’t remember negotiation being  _ your _ strong suit, ‘Soka.”

“Hmmm.” She looks up at him, pretending to very seriously consider the matter, and then says, “Well, how about a one to one exchange rate? For every credit you charge, you get a kiss instead.”

“Sounds fair,” he says, leans down and kisses her nose, light and teasing.

“Told you I can be a good negotiator,” she hums at him, and then she smiles, warm and wide and bright.

Because there’s still  _ so much _ they haven’t talked about, and Naas is in danger (and by extension, so is a good chunk of Coruscant), but right here, right now, everything is  _ good. _

~~~

Cody stares at his datapad for just a moment before lifting his stylus and drawing the letters and numbers smooth and neat on the line, “CC-2224.” Most of the time, it’s not so hard to write that on reports, as his signature. It’s an abstract identifier, most days, simple - it has not been so easy with the casualty reports from Umbara, particularly not for Ghost Company’s dead.

He just keeps thinking of Je’kai looking defeated and exhausted, and  _ CT-3181, sir. Expendable. _

That is not true of him or his men, that they are expendable, although he knows they were  _ made  _ to be. So these reports are harder.

He’d offered to do the 501st’s casualty reports for Rex, he’s done it before, but Rex turned him down. Said he had done them already.

Cody knows that was a lie, but he hasn’t asked again, if only because Rex has been a little preoccupied with the apparent  _ Force time bomb  _ in his barracks. Cody’s offered to help with that, too, if he could, and Rex had shrugged, said he barely knew what to do himself, and hurried off, ostensibly to get something from his own office. Rex has barely spoken to him, much less said anything about Umbara and Krell, even though Cody knows him and knows he needs to talk.

He hopes Rex has at least discussed it with his Commander, but that seems unlikely.

So he has not been able to help his  _ ori’vod,  _ not even with  _ reports. _ That is… difficult. It was his responsibility to protect Rex, and he failed, and he has no way to even repair that failure. He submits his report, opens the next - as always, one page, clinical,  _ Unit loss: CT-8546,  _ a few lines stating location and squad and, if necessary, circumstances of death - for this  _ vod,  _ Elek, Cody puts nothing in the  _ cause of death _ line because he was simply shot in a skirmish with the Umbarans. Nothing remarkable about that.

Rex, Ghost Company, all his  _ vode _ \- all the people he has a duty to take care of, so many of them hurt and lost. Some of that he can forgive himself for - or at least, can dismiss the guilt - when it is  _ normal,  _ when it is  _ unremarkable,  _ just how things are. It’s the rest, sending Waxer instead of going himself, not seeing Krell’s orders for the ruse they were, not being more suspicious when comms wouldn’t go through to Rex but they were able to comm Master Tiin - those are the things he cannot let go of.

_ Received treatment for injuries prior to death: Yes  - No _

Cody selects  _ No  _ with a sigh, faces again the perfectly straight, black line labelled  _ Authorized CO,  _ copies down “CC-2224.”

There’s a very small, polite-sounding knock on his door, which he would think belongs to Kenobi except it’s too light a sound. “It’s open,” he calls, gruffly, and submits his report so he can set his datapad and stylus neatly to one side.

It’s Commander Tano who opens his door and steps into his office, very uncertain; Cody blinks, and pushes himself to his feet, nodding. “Commander,” he says, politely. He wasn’t even aware she knew where his office was, and they don’t exactly  _ talk,  _ so that must mean: “What happened? Is Rex alright?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing happened, he’s fine, I just- I wanted to talk to you.”

Well, that’s… strange. Still, the only thing he can think is that this is about Rex. Maybe she wants to ask why he didn’t go, why he wasn’t there. He won’t have an answer for her; he doesn’t know. He rubs his knuckles against Rex’s bracer and gestures at the only other piece of furniture in the room besides his own desk and chair, a second (and frankly, shitty) chair that no one ever sits on, not even General Kenobi (Kenobi  _ claims  _ it makes his back hurt to sit in it even for a moment, which is patently  _ ridiculous).  _ “Of course, Commander. What do you need?”

~~~

Ahsoka supposes she should have thought this  _ through, _ more, before she just wandered over to the 212th’s barracks and asked Hang-up where Cody could be found. She should’ve made a  _ plan _ for this conversation, because Cody is… she needs to be careful with him. 

But it’s a little too late for all that  _ now, _ so she sighs and drags the chair over and drops down to sit in it, even though it’s not exactly the most comfortable thing, twists her fingers together and says, “I wanted to apologize. For not--for not being there for him. I promised you I would be and then I wasn’t and it was all awful and,” and she makes herself shut her mouth, because none of this is anything Cody doesn’t know already. She twists her fingers tighter together and stares at them, hunches her shoulders inward.

He sits back down, slowly, sighs heavy and tired. “Why weren’t you?” There’s no judgement in his tone, but she can’t help flinching a little, anyway.

“I… we were ordered back to Coruscant,” she says, tightly, untwisting her fingers and clenching them into fists, in and out again. “By the Council. Chancellor wanted us, there was an attempt on his life, and he made us track some stupid, inconsequential crime boss while Rex and all of them were--” and  _ Force, _ it’s so--she should have  _ been there. _

She’d  _ known _ it was wrong. To leave.

“I knew something wasn’t right. I told him to be  _ careful, _ I tried to get Anakin to let me stay and just him go, but he said it’d be a good learning experience and Krell promised they’d have the capital captured by the time we got back,” but he was lying and she hadn’t  _ seen it. _

What use is she, if she can’t even protect her men?

~~~

Cody finds he does not feel much, about her explanation. Maybe he should be frustrated, or sorry, or something besides  _ tired.  _ He slides his datapad back in front of him, turns it on, starts on the next report and nearly chokes because the number is Mesh’s. He freezes, careful, switches the ‘pad back off and looks up at Commander Tano. “And you think you should apologize to me, for this.”

“I made you a promise. I broke it.” Perhaps he would be angry at her for that, if he had not broken promises of his own. He does not now have the right, or the energy, to be angry. “A lot of men died. Just because they don’t call me  _ vod  _ doesn’t mean I don’t see them as my brothers, Cody.”

Well. Then that is what she thinks of his  _ vode.  _ That’s good enough, he supposes. “They are not your brothers,” he says, steadily. “Not like they’re mine.” He leans forward and meets her eyes, sees and understands the flicker of hurt there, is gentler. “But would you have stayed and fought for them anyway?” He thinks he may know the answer, now, but he needs to hear it from her.

She shoves back her chair and stands in a short, jerky movement, eyes flashing, and says, “I thought you knew me well enough you wouldn't have to ask.” She's meeting his eyes, glaring, and he sighs a little, feeling  _ heavy.  _ “I'd die for any of them, Cody- I'd die for  _ you. _ I might not be a clone and I might not be Obi-Wan, but I am not an idiot and I am not coldhearted.” She starts to walk away, and Cody pushes himself to his feet, hands on his desk, but then she turns back around, sharp, and adds, “And the ones I can't save keep me up at night as much as I’d  _ assume _ they do you.”

Before she can leave his office, Cody splays his fingers wide against the wood of his desk and says, “Then you did not break your promise to me, Commander. Not like I broke mine to him.”

“We both failed him,” Ahsoka says resignedly, turning.  _ She  _ did not. “At least you were there for him, after.” She hesitates, then says, hesitantly, “Has he talked to you? He needs to talk to  _ someone  _ about it but he hasn't told me anything.”

Cody pauses, then slowly shakes his head. “No. I was hoping he was talking to you about it all.”

~~~

Ahsoka swears, bitter and small, shakes her head. “He  _ won’t. _ I’ve tried, but he just pushes me away, changes the subject, somehow--avoids it every time.” Cody laughs a little, bitterly, and she sighs. “I  _ know _ he’s blaming himself, Cody. Kix told me yesterday that Rex hasn’t been  _ sleeping, _ not more than an hour or two at a time, except for the one night I snuck in and look how that turned out.” She shrugs, runs a hand over one of her headtails, absently. “And I can’t karking  _ do anything _ to help because I’m not allowed in the barracks anymore because they’re  _ scared of me.” _

“What did you expect him to do after something like that?” Cody asks wryly, and she shrugs a little.

“I don’t know,” she says, soft and small and miserable, “but I hoped--he’d trust me enough to let me see him vulnerable, to let me  _ help.” _

“I do not think it’s a lack of trust, Commander,” Cody says, quiet.

She shrugs again. “We don’t deserve him.” It’s whisper-soft, a statement of fact, and ordinarily she’d  _ never _ tell Cody of all people that but… she thinks that he  _ understands. _

“No,” he says, sighing, and he drops back into his chair and leans his forearms on his desk. “He needed better from us.”

Ahsoka rights the chair she’d tossed aside so carelessly, makes a face at it, because  _ Force _ it’s a terrible chair, you’d think a Marshal Commander would get better chairs than that, and sits back down as well, shaking her head. “I guess it’s--just as well I didn’t give him armor in exchange,” she muses tiredly, swallowing. “I wasn’t there.”

“I did.” Cody is so, so still. “I… should not have. It has been useless.”

Ahsoka swallows, hard, doesn’t respond for a minute, and then she huffs out a sigh. “He shouldn’t have given me armor,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t--deserve his protection when I haven’t done anything for him.” Except fail him. She’s done  _ that _ a lot.

Too much.

~~~

Rex does not  _ mean  _ to overhear anything. He’d just wanted to talk to Cody - he’d had a thought that they should see about promoting Je’kai to ARC trooper status, because Rex thinks that, given the chance, Je’kai could have the creativity and instincts for it.

He’d hardly expected to overhear his  _ ori’vod  _ state, very simply, that he had broken a promise to Rex, and for his  _ cyar’ika  _ to say they  _ failed him. _ So he found himself frozen outside the door, because he could hardly interrupt them, but he couldn’t just… walk away. He should, he thinks, but he  _ can’t,  _ not with the way they’re both talking. Like they - the two people he trusts  _ most,  _ have not been enough for him. As if it is their fault that so much went wrong.

“It has been useless,” Cody says, about the  _ armor  _ he gave him, and Rex rubs his fingers over the worn orange paint on his right bracer, scowling, hesitant. He should go, but how can Cody  _ say  _ that? He understands what his  _ ori’vod  _ actually means by that - not that the  _ bracer  _ is useless, but that Cody’s protection has been. Which is  _ banthashit. _

“He shouldn’t have given me armor,” Ahsoka says, so quiet he has to strain to hear her, and  _ kriff  _ that’s not right, it isn’t  _ up to her. _ “I don’t- deserve his protection when I haven’t done anything for him.”

Is  _ that  _ what she thinks? Rex should probably go and pretend he never heard anything, should go back to the barracks and-

Oh well, too late, he’s already slammed Cody’s office door open and marched in, settling himself facing both Cody and Ahsoka. Cody barely blinks; Ahsoka  _ jolts. _

“You wanna repeat yourself to my face?” Rex growls, glaring at his Jedi first and then his  _ ori’vod. _ He twists his hand in a “go-on” gesture, sharp. “You two were really on a roll, don’t let me stop you.”

Cody gives him that same old  _ damned  _ blank stare, doesn’t answer him, but Ahsoka (blushing, awkward,  _ definitely _ embarrassed) manages, “How long have you been listening?”

“Long enough to know you’re both  _ dumbasses,”  _ he snaps. “I gave you that karking armor, you don’t get to decide I shouldn’t have.  _ Either  _ of you.”

Ahsoka looks down, twisting her fingers tight together. “I’m sorry, Rex.”

Kriffing Cody just  _ looks  _ at him. Damn him.

“What about you,  _ ori’vod,  _ you gonna try to take your bracer back?” Rex can’t kriffing  _ believe  _ them. He doesn’t need them thinking this, who the  _ kriff  _ is it supposed to help? Sure as hells not him, he doesn’t want their guilt. “It’s not useless -  _ you’re  _ not.” Cody flinches just a little at that, because Rex suspects he’d rather not have anyone know that’s what he meant. Well, too karking bad.

He exhales, fast and hard, crosses his arms and shifts his weight a little, shakes his head. “I don’t trust  _ anyone  _ more than you two  _ mir’osike. _ You both did the best you could, I don’t-” He rubs his forehead, wearily, and sighs again, slower. “I don’t understand why you do this, both of you, I… I don’t kriffing  _ need better from you.” _

~~~

Ahsoka grits her teeth, pushes back the embarrassment  _ (Force, _ she’s not paying enough attention if she didn’t notice him standing outside the door), jerks her eyes up to meet his (intense, beautiful, golden) ones. “If you trust us so much,” she snaps, furiously, “then why the  _ hells _ won’t you talk?”

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you,” Rex says, which she thinks is--alright, fair enough, but then  _ why? _ “Is that what you think it is, that I don’t trust you?”

He--the  _ kriff? _ “What  _ else _ am I supposed to think?” she hisses, glaring up at him, defiant, crossing her arms. “You’ve told me exactly  _ three things. _ You say you’re  _ fine. _ You tell me you’re getting enough sleep and I have to hear from  _ Kix _ that you are barely sleeping at all. At  _ some point, _ what am I going to do, Rex?” 

Honestly. What does he  _ expect _ from her? At some point, she has to assume  _ something, _ or else she’ll go mad.

“You know all the  _ important things,” _ Rex growls (and  _ that’s not fair, _ what gives him the  _ right _ to use his Force-forsaken  _ voice _ like that, she’s trying to be  _ angry _ at him, damn it all). “I’m doing the best I can, and that means  _ not _ dragging myself through the same shit over and over again.”

Ahsoka shakes her head, gritting her teeth. The stupid--the  _ kriff _ does he think he’s doing? “I can’t  _ believe you.” _ She pushes herself to her feet, shakes her head again, says, “Suppressing everything until you either turn into an unfeeling statue or you  _ explode _ isn’t going to solve anything, Rex!”

She doesn’t wait for a response from him, just turns on her heel, bites out, “I’m  _ tired _ of this. You can’t have it both ways. Either you trust us to be able to help you, or you don’t. Make up your mind.”

And then she walks away.

~~~

Rex stares at the door for a moment before slumping and slowly turning around to look at Cody, who has a very deliberately blank expression on his face - the judgemental one that he uses to hide when he wants to say something sarcastic but it wouldn’t be appropriate.

“You gonna storm out on me too?” Rex says, wishes he could sound angrier. It doesn’t work.

Cody sighs and pulls open a drawer in his desk, takes out a flask and hands it over, wordlessly. Well, that’s answer enough, Rex guesses; he drags the shitty extra chair closer to the desk and sits down, sticks a leg out in front of him and takes a very careful swallow, coughs anyway because it’s the kriffing moonshine some of his  _ vode  _ like to make (Hardcase had, supposedly, been the best at it). Still, at the moment, the burn is nice.

“Little does she know I can both be an unfeeling statue  _ and  _ explode,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “For the record, I’m still  _ pissed  _ at you and we are going to talk about this later.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna talk about a couple things,  _ vod,”  _ Cody says, and Rex scowls.

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ lecture me about  _ not talking,  _ Cody,” he snaps, because Cody makes  _ him  _ look as chatty as a Weequay bartender. His  _ ori’vod  _ has no space to tell him to be more open to sharing.

“I’m not.” Cody reaches out and Rex passes back his flask. “But you owe me a few answers,  _ ori’vod.” _

Because of all his dead  _ vode.  _ And Rex does want to talk to him, just… He also can’t. Not about everything. But some of it. Because Cody is like him, Cody has always  _ understood. _ Even when he’s been an ass about it. “I can’t talk to her, Cody, I don’t- I gotta forget the whole karking thing.”

Cody hesitates, then begrudgingly shoves the flask at Rex one more time. “Let me know how that works out, Rex.”

Rex sighs, doesn’t take another drink, leaves the flask on Cody’s desk and stands. “I will. Reports again?” He knows his  _ ori’vod  _ that well, at least, recognizes the stylus and datapad set too neat in front of him, the tight lines around his eyes.

“Yeah. You know I’d do yours, Rex.”

“No.” Rex will do his own casualty reports. That’s his responsibility, and those dead deserve his remembrance, so. So he will make himself manage. When it needs done. “I was going to tell you, I think Je’kai would make a good ARC trooper.”

“I’ll look into it.” Cody eyes his flask a moment, then puts it back in his drawer with a sigh. “Don’t kriff things up with her,  _ vod,  _ you know you’d regret it.”

“I know.” Rex hesitates, then sighs and turns away and walks out, rubbing his palm over the curve of his bracer. He doesn’t understand why they both think they are not good enough, wonders if that  _ is  _ his fault, if he would try harder to explain to them they wouldn’t be thinking that way. He just doesn’t know what to  _ do.  _ Nothing seems right, anymore, however hard he tries to make everything work.

At the very least he can go help his  _ vode. _ That is something he knows.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really any new warnings, today - this chapter has some mention of slavery/mass murder and, as usual, the 607th kids and Naas especially are dealing with all the issues that come with having been abused and terrorized for a while.
> 
> A lot of Dealing with Things happens in this chapter, some self-hatred and Realizations but also fluff!

Anakin is sprawled out on his stomach on his bed, reading through the reports Rex’d just sent to him--he has to at least skim them so he knows what he’s signing off on--when Ahsoka comes into his room in a storm of confused emotion. “What’s up, Snips?” he asks, turning his datapad off and setting it on his nightstand, rolling onto his side to look at her.

There are tears barely contained in her eyes and she looks  _ miserable, _ and her voice is raw and strained when she says, “Rex is being an  _ idiot, _ Master.” 

For the briefest moment, she pauses, and Anakin swears his heart  _ stops. _

But the story tumbles out without any further prompting (and it’s not Rex leaving and breaking her heart again like he’d feared, thank the Force) and Anakin sits up, pats the bed, tugs her into his side as soon as she sits down. He can understand her feelings of guilt, inadequacy, and Force knows he’s felt this same frustration many times, but the only thing her pushing him like this will do is just strain their relationship too much. “You gotta give him space, Snips,” he says gently, pushing warm reassurance at her across the training bond. “He’ll tell you eventually, but right now he’s not ready and you need to respect that.”

“I know,” she says, wretched. “I just--get so  _ frustrated, _ because he won’t let me  _ help.” _

“You can only help him when he  _ wants _ to be helped,” Anakin says. “Did you mean any of that? What you yelled at him?”

“No,” and she hangs her head, slumping.

“Then you need to apologize, Ahsoka. Don’t let this turn into something big enough to blow your whole relationship up. You’re both under a lot of stress, it’s understandable.”

She nods a little, says quietly, “Thanks, Master,” and untucks herself from his side. “I should--meditate. Let you get back to your reports.”

“Oh, you’ll  _ let me?” _ Anakin rolls his eyes, because  _ honestly. _ Why would he want to go back to  _ reports? _ “How gracious of you.”

That gets him a small smile and a tiny chuckle, and then she pushes herself to her feet and says, “Thanks, really.”

“You’re welcome, Snips.” And he picks up his datapad (reluctantly) and sighs, smiles at her retreating back.

She’ll be okay.

And if she isn’t, then he and Rex will have a  _ discussion _ about it.

~~~

Akaan has instigated a game of sabacc and managed to rope Rex into it by the time he gets a comm - he’s won some seventy credits over three rounds, and Akaan’s swearing has approached incoherency, although there’s still something vaguely logical in the progression of most of his sentences. Rex thinks if he won one more game, he’d get Akaan just stringing together every swear word he knows in no particular order.

Instead, Ahsoka comms him.  _ “Rex, come in. Rex, you there?” _

He pushes himself back from the sabacc table before answering because Akaan is really swearing a  _ lot  _ and he’s not sure she needs to hear all his suggestions for creative things Rex can do with his anatomy. “What do you need, ‘Soka?”

_ “Can we meet in the medbay?”  _ she asks, and  _ gods,  _ he just doesn’t want to argue over this with her.

“Yeah, meet you there once I  _ collect my credits,  _ Akaan!”

_ “Kriff you, mir’osik!” _ Akaan snaps, and Rex goes back to the table, sweeps all his credit chips into his hand with one more good pile of Akaan’s chips.

“Don’t lose too much more without me,  _ vod,”  _ he says lightly, and Akaan just makes a very rude hand gesture. The rest of Rex’s  _ vode  _ grumpily salute him as they start another round, and he heads for the medbay, ignoring a sour look from Kix (it’s been sixty or so hours now since he last slept, and he thinks that might be a bit too long - Kix is keeping track now, apparently).

The walk is nice, in a way - it’s not long, but Coruscant at night is interesting, distracting (keeps him just on edge enough that he isn’t lazy), and there’s not much fresh air on a planet like this but it’s still different than the barracks. And making his way through the Temple med bay levels, with their neat, pale colors and corridors, is something of a relief too.

Ahsoka is, of course, waiting for him in the little room he’d shown her, sitting on one of the couches and fidgeting with the edge of one of the med bay’s thick blankets where it’s folded over the back of the couch. He pauses at the doorway of the room, then sighs and walks through, decides she doesn’t exactly look like she wants to scold him anymore.

“Hey,” he says, crossing to her and sitting down. “What is it?”

~~~

Ahsoka looks up as Rex walks over, sits down; she fidgets with the blanket for another minute and then gives in and scoots closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder and sighing softly. “I’m sorry,” she says, quiet, closing her eyes. “About--earlier. It’s just… I worry about you, Rex.”

He tugs her into his arms (and she goes willingly, has  _ missed this), _ says softly, “It’s alright, ‘Soka. I’m going to be fine.”

She doesn’t--she believes him, but she can’t help but  _ worry, _ still. Because this is all so hard on him and she can’t do anything to help and there’s just so  _ much _ that’s been wrong since Umbara, and none of it’s  _ right. _ “Okay,” she whispers, shifting so she can sling her legs over his lap and tuck her face into his collarbone. “I’m sorry I pushed you too much.”

“I know,” he says, runs his fingers down her back headtail, tilts his head to lean against her montral. “It’s okay,  _ cyar’ika.” _

She sighs, long and slow, asks, muffled, “Can we just--sit like this for a while?”

“Sure,” he agrees, shifting her into a little bit better of a position. “You alright?”

“I miss you.” She wraps an arm around him, shifts to look up at him, runs the fingers of her free hand over his face, feather-light. She’s missed just be able to  _ breathe, _ to sit with him and let the world spin on without them. With all the stress and busyness lately, it’s been near-impossible to get  _ peaceful _ alone time, especially since she can’t come to the barracks at night anymore.

It’s been hard. She can’t help hoping this whole ordeal is over soon, but she knows it’s probably going to be a long time before her men trust her to sleep in the same room as them.

As much as that hurts to consider.

~~~

Rex used to  _ hate  _ just sitting and being quiet - and he still has trouble with it when he's alone. But sitting quietly with  _ Ahsoka  _ is steadying, has always been, if he's honest. She is  _ safe,  _ and she loves him, and those two things are… almost strange, in a sense. All too rare. So it's easy, comforting, to wrap her up close in his arms and rest his forehead on her montrals and not have to  _ think.  _ Just breathe.

Until she raps her knuckles noisily on his cuirass, and glares at him when he leans back. “You’re pinching me with this.”

“You should have thought of that before sitting on my lap,” he says, dryly. She complains about his armor  _ every  _ time but still curls up against him anyway. Taking off his armor is such a process he sometimes wonders why he bothers; if she’s gonna be so grumbly he should just leave it on.

She bangs on the plastoid again, pouts at him, and he thinks he should warn her that if she keeps using her good looks to her advantage like this he’s going to stop cuddling with her. (As if. But a warning of  _ some kind _ because she doesn’t exactly play fair.) “Come  _ on,  _ I want to be comfortable.”

He shakes his head at her and raises an eyebrow, but since it’s been sixty-one? sixty-two? hours since he last slept, maybe he better lose the armor anyway and try to sleep now. Ahsoka means no nightmares, so if he tries now, then it won’t be bad. “Fine. Get off.”

She pouts, but if she wants his armor off, then she’s gotta get off his lap. It takes her a few more minutes of grumbling before she slides off his lap, flops on the couch and gives him an impatient look.

If he’s deliberately slower than he needs to be with all his armor pieces (if he ever gets frustrated with how  _ much  _ armor he has to wear, he just remembers how many times it’s saved his ass and how much he hates not having it, and then he stops complaining), it’s only because Ahsoka keeps glaring at him and it’s funny to see her get more annoyed at him. He leaves his gunbelt and kama for last, slides one of his blasters free from its holster and settles it by his leg where he can reach it easily, then eases back on the couch - almost as soon as he’s leaning back, Ahsoka launches herself at him, curls up back on his lap and tucks her arm and legs close to her, wraps her other arm around his middle. He laughs, a little, and goes back to holding her  _ tight. _

“That's better,” she says smugly, and Rex flicks her shoulder, rolling his eyes.

“I'm trying to sleep. Shut up.” He tilts his head against hers and closes his eyes, relaxes the  _ tension _ that's been keeping him awake, gives himself permission to sleep. She grumbles, pokes him, but he doesn't bother reacting besides tightening his hold on her, splaying one hand over the bare skin of her upper back where he can feel her spine and muscles when she breathes. “Going to sleep,” he informs her, “So you're stuck here.”

He doesn't know if she responds; everything's gone underwater-slow and hazy now that he feels his tiredness again; he doesn't think he could move if he tried. Yeah, he better not stay awake… how long? Six hundred? Kriff, no. A long  _ time.  _ He stayed awake a  _ long time. _ Maybe just. Less time next time. Probably. Whatever.

~~~

Ahsoka huffs out a soft breath, murmurs,  _ “Good,” _ in a low voice, because he’s leaning heavy against her and his breathing is steady and she doesn’t want to wake him up.

It’s  _ good _ that he’s sleeping; she doesn’t know how long it’s been this time, but she can kriffing guarantee it’s  _ too long. _ She’ll have to ask Kix. Kix will know.

She isn’t gonna stay here for too long. Sleeping sitting up is  _ uncomfy _ when you wake up, because there’s all the cricks in her muscles and she’ll be sore and stuff. So she just… she’ll let him sleep for a bit, and then she’ll see about waking him up and getting him over to a bunk so they can curl up. Because she’s  _ not leaving _ tonight. She wants to  _ stay. _

She thinks her presence helps with the nightmares. She  _ knows _ her presence keeps him asleep longer than however-long of catnaps he’s been using to keep going.

So she’s gonna stay.

His arms are warm and safe around her and his chest is solid and comfy when she curls tighter against him, and he’s leaning his head against her montrals like she’s a particularly-fine pillow, and his breathing is steady and deep and she likes it when he’s this close. This is nice, this is safe, this is  _ good. _

She’s missed him.

Ahsoka hums a bit, tucks her free hand under her cheek, and lets her eyes drift closed. She’ll just stay here for a few minutes. Really. Just a little while…

~~~

Kix hopes that the reason he hasn't seen Rex for a few hours is because he's asleep somewhere - exactly  _ sixty-three and a half  _ hours since Rex last slept and Kix is beginning to think he needs to beat the living shit out of Rex, since  _ clearly,  _ telling Commander Tano didn't work.

At least he has cornered and collared all the 501st’s injured by now, he thinks as he walks into his medbay, quickly scanning over the room for places where he may be needed. Everyone just looks tired; his ward is full of troopers who’ve made  _ very simple  _ injuries worse by refusing to go to their medic (at least Beten comes and helps most times, now), so his junior medics are exhausted, especially Tuck.

He nods to Tuck, who salutes him sleepily, and Kix decides before he checks their work, he’ll grab them (and himself) some caf. He weaves through a few bunks, appraising as he goes, toward the little lounge off the ward, and as he walks in, he’s pleased to find that he was unexpectedly  _ right  _ about where Rex had disappeared to. More or less. His Captain and Commander are both, evidently, asleep, tilted halfway over on one of the couches.

Kriffing  _ finally.  _ Sixty-three and a half hours was too long to not be sleeping - and Kix  _ suspects  _ Commander Tano hasn’t been sleeping well either. He chuckles to himself and pours three cups of caf, wobbles them out to his medics, gets three more (one for him) and takes those out, too.

His two COs better stay asleep for a  _ while  _ or he’s going to have a lot to say to them. Still, he smiles to himself smugly and goes to check on the patient Sniper’s working with, the former 607th’s Lieutenant, ‘54. ‘54 has a broken collarbone and an infected gash on his calf; both injuries are just starting to look better.

“How’s he doing, Sniper?” Kix asks, smiling at ‘54. He’s given up on asking most of the 607th for a self-assessment - he doesn’t even bother using his pain scale for them. They never give him a real answer.

“Not bad.” Sniper crosses his arms, nodding. “The infection’s under control, giving him less meds for that might be a good idea.”

“I’ll look.” Kix reaches out with the Force, careful not to slip into  _ fixing,  _ and says, absently, “You should see Captain Rex and Commander Tano. They’re asleep in the lounge, look like a pair of idiots.”

Sniper snorts. “You should buy the Captain a blanket to match Commander Tano’s, I’d like to see him wandering around with one over his shoulders like she does all the time. ‘54, for kriff’s sake, don’t  _ give  _ me that face. It’s just one shot.”

Kix snorts, shakes his head, because their  _ vod  _ is eyeing Sniper’s syringe like he’d much rather die of infection than get another shot. “She doesn’t have hers with her, so I may just  _ have  _ to get him one so if she forgets hers they still have one. Since  _ apparently  _ the Commander likes that thing.” If he’s honest, he’s a little proud of how often Commander Tano has her blanket with her, how much she likes his gift.

“She doesn’t have it? Kix.” Sniper shakes his head. “You gotta get her her blanket back and call Brii to come draw a caricature.”

The excuses they’ve been coming up with to keep Brii drawing are getting a little ridiculous. The easiest one is getting him to design tattoos, but there’s only so many things you want to get permanent on yourself just to encourage a  _ vod.  _ Kix has already considered getting another phrase tattooed on his head and vetoed that. Currently, Akaan’s talking Brii into giving him a full back tattoo, which Kix thinks is extreme (and which Akaan is very excited about; Rex never let him get anything that crazy before because  _ technically  _ tattoos are supposed to stay  _ discreet). _

So, the newest thing is getting Brii to draw caricatures of anything that’s  _ remotely  _ amusing. Kix has never made fun of Jesse so much since they were cadets together.

“Good idea.”

So Kix comms General Skywalker, awkwardly talks him into bringing Commander Tano’s blanket to the medbay, and when his General shows up with the blanket and a bemused expression, shows him Rex and Commander Tano bundled up together on the couch. He takes the too-soft blanket from General Skywalker and settles it over both Rex and his Commander with a small shake of his head.

“I’m worried about them,” Kix says, off-handedly, not quite looking at his General. “Rex especially.”

“I know.” General Skywalker sighs, wearily, and Kix looks up in time to see him smile slightly. “Somehow I think they’ll work it out, though.”

Kix hopes that’s true - hopes it’s true for all his  _ vode.  _ Nothing is quite right, anymore, and he’s not sure what will fix it. (They have leave for three more weeks, but after… after that, campaigns again, he’s not sure how they’ll do it.) “Yeah, sir.”

General Skywalker excuses himself after a moment, apparently to help General Kenobi  _ research  _ (like he’s been saying, nothing is quite right anymore), and Kix quietly comms Brii, asks him to come do a comic of Rex and Commander Tano.

Things will get better. Will have to.

~~~

Ahsoka wakes up soft and warm and slow, lazy, aware of a crick in her neck and knots in her shoulders, though not enough to actually make her move. She’s curled up under her fuzzy blanket, arms wrapped tightly around Rex--

Wait. Hang on.

She opens her eyes, frowning--she doesn’t remember falling  _ asleep, _ just curling up with Rex on the couch, no blanket… well. Apparently her resolution  _ not _ to fall asleep so that she wouldn’t be  _ sore _ hadn’t worked very well.

She stretches sleepily, yawns, and feels Rex tense and then relax again; she tilts her head back and meets his drowsy golden gaze, hums, “G’morning, Rexter.”

“Morning,  _ ner’jetii,” _ he says, light, leans down and brushes a kiss across her lips. She makes a small, pleased noise, leans her head back into his shoulder.

Huffs out, “I didn’t bring my blanket with me last night.”

He makes a noncommittal noise, says, “Someone must’ve brought it in.”

Well, no  _ duh. _ Kriffing  _ genius, _ her Rex. “You don’t say,” she drawls, pokes his side gently. “Go back to sleep, we don’t have to be anywhere.”

Rex rolls his eyes. “I’ve already been asleep longer than I meant to,” he grumbles, “I can’t just go  _ back  _ to sleep.”

“Sure you can,” Ahsoka says, yawning and snuggling up against him again. “‘S called  _ being lazy, _ you should try it sometime.”

~~~

“Excuse me, when have I ever had the luxury of being lazy,” Rex says dryly, half-serious. “I have a lot of brothers to keep in line, even on leave.”

“Well, I have to keep you and Anakin in line,” Ahsoka retorts. “It's very hard.”

“You seem to manage fine,” Rex says, eyeing her sleepy expression and evident comfort with a small smile.

“When you aren’t being a stubborn  _ di’kut.” _

“If you’re going to try to speak Mando’a, Ahsoka, can you at least  _ pronounce  _ it right?” he huffs. She’s  _ trying  _ but really, she’s not very good at it.

She leans back and gives him a  _ look.  _ “Well, maybe if you’d  _ teach me _ I’d be better at it.”

Rex still balks at that a little, shrugs awkwardly. “I suppose you just better not try at all then,  _ cyar’ika.” _

For some reason, she doesn’t pout or grumble at that; instead, she smiles, smug as a loth-cat. “Jesse got me a program - I think Fives helped him.”  _ Excuse her?  _ “It was on the datapad he gave me for my birthday.”

“Oh, for  _ kriff’s sake,”  _ Rex groans. If he’s totally fair, he’s sure that for a gift, Jesse was only a little mischievous - but  _ still. _ Part of him still isn’t sure- He doesn’t know, but Mando’a is  _ his,  _ and his  _ vode’s,  _ and he’s never willingly shared it with a commanding officer before. He doesn't know how. “Well, your pronunciation still isn't good.”

“I’m  _ learning,  _ Rex.” She grumbles  _ now,  _ eyes sparkling. “If you  _ helped  _ it would be easier…”

He could help, but he feels like he needs to stick to his guns, now, so he huffs a little and shakes his head. “I think this is a bad idea, still.” He hopes Fives and Jesse and Akaan are aware that they have to  _ watch their mouths  _ now.

“Fine.” She leans back, crosses her arms. “Then I’ll ask  _ Fives.  _ I’m sure he’ll help me.”

Rex narrows his eyes. “You  _ wouldn’t.  _ He’ll teach you swear words and tell you they have to do with the weather.”

“Wouldn’t I? Would you like to make that a  _ bet?” _

Well, not now that she’s said  _ that. _ “I’m good, thanks.”

“I’ll have Jesse double-check what he tells me,” she says, lightly, and Rex pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Ahsoka. You can’t trust Jesse, either,  _ cyar’ika,  _ you should know my  _ vode  _ better than this.” When Fives is playing a prank, Jesse is usually the  _ last  _ one to contradict him.

“If you won’t help me, I’ll take what I can get,” Ahsoka says, but Rex sticks with his no-helping policy. Is he only doing it for his pride? Possibly. But he doesn’t care. Not to mention he’s not even sure he’d be a good teacher.

“If I ever stop speaking to you for an extended period of time you can assume Fives gave you a  _ really bad  _ suggestion,” he says, rolling his eyes.

She snorts and nestles in against his chest, unimpressed, and says, “Cool.”

Ah, yes, the most reasonable response to being told you might accidentally say something lewd when you thought you were asking what time it was. Rex chuckles and settles back, just for a couple more minutes. That’s all, though; he has to check on his men.

But not  _ now.  _ Now, in this moment, he just gets to be with his ‘Soka and be quiet and safe, and he thinks that is better. He needs more of this.

~~~

The days go by too fast.

Master Vos comes, and suddenly Anakin and Obi-Wan are constantly shut away in the Temple library, leaving Ahsoka to sulk and catch up on her Temple-bound classes and the requisition reports she always has to do (Anakin  _ hates _ them); Rex is busy with his men, most of the time, and so she rarely gets to see him. She doesn’t think he’s sleeping much still, but every couple of days he comms her and they spend a few hours in the medbay’s lounge, chatting and, more often than not, napping. At least, Rex sleeps; Ahsoka spends a lot of the time working on reports on her datapad, snuggled up against him under her blanket.

Sometimes he has nightmares, and she does her best to just be  _ there _ for him, when he does. He’s still not ready to  _ talk _ about them, but at least she can be a reassurance, a comfort, even if she can’t help in any other way.

It’s not quite a week later that she considers the fact that it’s been, with all the injuries and missions, a few months since the last time they’d met up to practice hand-to-hand--well, she’s practicing it, anyway, and Rex is practicing ‘going easy on someone’. He’s too kriffing  _ good, _ and when she tries to use Force-pushes and stuff he just knows how to turn them against her. Which is  _ frustrating. _

But also, it’s good practice, and she attributes her ability to survive Wasskah to his teaching.

So she comms him, one afternoon, says, “Hey, Rexter, I was wondering if you wanted to do some hand-to-hand this afternoon.”

_ “Sure, ‘Soka,” _ comes the reply.  _ “I’ll meet you in the training room?” _

“Yeah,” she says, slips her feet into her boots and leaves the Temple behind with a bright grin.

This will be fun! Even though she always seems to end up with too many new bruises after an afternoon of training with Rex.

~~~

Rex has been going completely stir-crazy, with barely anything active to do; he’s run a couple simulations but it’s not a very flexible way to let off steam. Takes too long and the old system in the barracks makes his wristcomm a little unreliable sometimes.

So being able to spar with Ahsoka will be good, for him, for her hand-to-hand skills (better these days than they used to be), for a small rush of adrenaline. Something to fill in for the lack of campaigns and battle nerves and preparation before a skirmish - he needs those things, and as nice as leave is, it’s also a lot of  _ stillness. _

He leaves his armor in the 501sts barracks, makes his way to the training room he and Ahsoka have always used for training. He’s there before her, so he tugs off his boots, stretches briefly, and is ready by the time she comes in and sheds her own boots with a grin at him.

“I think we both know you’ve kept yourself in practice,” Rex says, dryly, as she bends forward to touch her toes and tilts her head sideways to give him a  _ look. _ “You know you still can’t beat me in a fair match, though.”

“Who said anything about fair?” she snorts, straightening slowly back up and stretching her shoulders one at a time.

“I did.” Rex shifts his weight from foot to foot, shakes his head with a small smile. “No using the Force, this time, ‘Soka. You’re not gonna learn anything if you keep doing that.”

“Who  _ cares  _ about learning, I just wanna win,” she huffs, grouchily, and Rex steps into the middle of the room.

“Too bad. No using the Force.”

She pouts at him, but joins him in the center of the room, and Rex sets one foot back, finds his stance, and smirks.  _ Don’t strike first unless you have an advantage,  _ he always tells her. She usually decides she has an advantage - she’s also usually wrong.

She’s grown more wary, but she’s still the first to move, rushes him on light feet, and he sees her eyes dart minutely to his right side, even though she looks like she’s setting herself up to attack his left, so he waits for her get in close, sees the shift that means she’s going to try feinting him, and kicks out, sweeps her stabilizing leg out from under her just as she tries to kick him herself. 

She’s quick and agile, is the tricky thing, so she springs back to her feet almost as soon as she hits the floor and he has to twist out of the way of a flying kick, just misses catching her leg so he has to retreat further. Good, that’s like he taught her; she’s smaller, so keeping her distance and darting in to attack is better.

He controls the pace of the fight as best he can, keeps himself on the defensive, where she’ll tire faster (as long as she isn’t  _ cheating,  _ which is not a guarantee by any means). She takes risks that he does not; like General Skywalker, this usually gets her good results, but not so often when she’s fighting someone more experienced than herself.

And as he keeps telling her,  _ experience outranks everything. _

He waits so that when the mistake comes (he leaves himself exposed, intentionally, and she rushes in, smooth and fast and  _ powerful,  _ it’s impressive really, and tries to twist his arm behind him) he is ready, can grab her wrist and elbow and flip her neatly over his shoulder. She is fast but she’s used more energy than he is and he is not slow by any means, drops down to hold both arms against the floor, resting just enough weight on her hips.

He taught her how to break out of this hold, so when she tries he just puts more weight on her hips and arms and smirks at her; there are advantages to simply being the  _ bigger  _ of the two of them.

She struggles against him for a minute longer, scowling and swearing under her breath, and Rex raises an eyebrow, amused.

“Not a bad try, ‘Soka,” he says snarkily. She’s flushed and panting, and despite his defensive strategy he realizes he is too.

“Shut  _ up,”  _ she snaps, kneeing him in the back. Uncalled for.

He laughs.  _ “Make me.”  _ Then, thoughtfully, meeting her eyes, “Oh, that’s right. You can’t.”

“Why don’t you let me up and let me try,” she says, scowling.

“Mm, no.” Rex likes the color of her eyes. He’s not sure if he’s ever told her that. “You’re impressive when you fight,  _ aden’tra.  _ Have I told you?” It’s the amount of speed and power coiled in her muscles, partly, how small she is yet how strong.

She looks somewhat mollified by that statement, hums noncommittally. “You aren’t half bad yourself.” Then she gives him a meaningful, grumpy look and says, “You’d be  _ better  _ if you’d let me win.”

“Now, Ahsoka,” he says, light. “What would be the fun in that?” He cocks his head to one side, grins down at her, holds her eyes and tries to figure out if they’re 501st blue or something brighter.

“I’d get to kick your ass,” she growls, and he can’t quite tell if her blush is still from the exercise or something else.

“Yes, but then  _ I _ wouldn’t get to kick  _ your  _ ass. I don’t think it’s worth it.” He should probably let her up, but her annoyance is amusing him, and he wants to figure out if he’s got a good angle for a kiss from here. He thinks so, if she doesn’t decide to be difficult about it.

“Worth it for me,” she grumbles.

“Well, that wasn’t the point. Winner gets to decide what’s worth it or not,  _ aden’tra.” _

She pouts at him, blowing out an annoyed exhale, and he chuckles and bends down to quickly kiss her nose.  _ “Hey!” _

“Something the matter?” Rex winks, laughing at the affronted look on her face. She’s half-gaping at him, so he decides to be  _ fair  _ and leans down, kisses her light and laughing and then harder. “Yeah,” he says, easing back and letting go of her arms, getting off of her and standing, “I definitely won.”

~~~

Ahsoka huffs, considering Rex with narrowed eyes. This is  _ very much _ not fair, and if he’s going to be  _ smug _ about all this… well. She doesn’t  _ have _ to play fair.

Besides. What is it he always says, about never letting your guard down?

He extends a hand to help her up, and she takes it, lets him pull her to her feet, and then before he can react she hooks one foot around his leg, jerking his knee towards her, and shoves him down with all her body weight, pinning  _ him _ to the floor and smirking at him. “You were saying?” she asks archly, raising an eyebrow.

He  _ could _ get her off him--she knows that, because he’s stronger than she is, but she  _ also _ knows he’s not going to yet. Which is nice of him.

He raises an eyebrow of his own, says, grumpily, “That I  _ beat you.” _

“Tsk, tsk,” she says lightly, leaning forward just a little.  _ “Never let your guard down, _ isn’t that what you always tell me, Rexter?” He makes a face, and she smirks wider. “Looks like  _ I win.” _

“You wish,” he grumbles, and she snorts.

“I wasn’t even  _ cheating _ this time,” she tells him, sagely, rolling her eyes dramatically. “You’re just  _ mad _ because you  _ lost.” _

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,” he says, and she  _ smirks. _

“Oh, I will.” With  _ pleasure. _

Rex rolls his eyes. “Delusional,” he mutters, under his breath, and she pulls one hand away from his arm to swat his shoulder.

“I can hear you, you know,” she says, and he smiles, softer somehow, and--

Aw,  _ kriff, _ his  _ arm. _

He doesn’t do anything much, though, just tugs her down to his chest (and she lets go of his other arm because what’s the point now) and wraps his arms around her, and she smiles and curls up against him, trails the fingers of one hand in swirls and spirals over his chest, lazily. “I told you you make a good pillow,” she tells him, offhandedly, and he snorts.

“Whatever, ‘Soka.” He presses a kiss to one montral, and she hums in pleasure, closes her eyes briefly.

This is nice.

Her muscles burn, pleasantly, with the exertion of the spar, and she’s still breathing a bit hard and shallow, enough to feel the oxygen entering her lungs, and there’s a warm background hum of adrenaline still fizzing in her veins, but mostly she feels lazy and content. Rex runs one hand up and down her upper arm, absently, and she sighs. “We should do this more often.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

It’s nice, just being able to lay here, to bask in his presence without having to worry about anyone walking in; this is about as private as it  _ gets, _ these days, except for their respective rooms on the  _ Resolute _ and the little lounge in the medbay (which is still frequently used by the medics, even while they’re in there--the caf machine is there, after all). She wishes there were more times like this--but even before Umbara and the 607th, they didn’t get much time to just  _ be _ without being interrupted by someone (usually Fives or Anakin, though at least Anakin didn’t  _ typically _ do it on purpose--unlike Fives). So she’ll take this time, treasure it, savor it, because who knows how much of it they’ll get in the future.

~~~

Alpha hadn't particularly  _ wanted  _ to spar with Beta, today - he was tired, he told Beta, and he wanted to hang out with Naas, and he was fine at fighting anyway, he hardly needed practice. But Beta, his dumbass  _ ori’vod,  _ talked to him into it, and Alpha regrets that very much as they open the door of the training room and Captain Rex and Commander Tano on  _ top  _ of each other on the floor.

Little gods, nope, leaving right  _ now. _

Alpha grabs Beta’s arm and tries to rush off down the hall, only the Captain’s voice comes very lazy from the room. “Calm down,  _ vod,  _ we’re not doing anything. ‘Soka, would you let me up now, please?”

Alpha does  _ not  _ want to be here, thank you very much. He keeps his eyes very front (sees Beta doing the same out of the corner of his eye) and swallows. He did  _ not  _ want to know what they did in their spare time, thank you very much, he had been perfectly content having no idea.

Commander Tano looks unhappy about it, but she climbs off Captain Rex’s chest and holds out a hand to help him to his feet, which Rex eyes suspiciously and ignores.

“We can definitely come back later,” Beta says, awkwardly, glancing at Alpha, and Alpha nods very fast. He wants to go scrub his eyes out with dangerous chemicals, kriff.

Rex just shakes his head, smiling a little, and Alpha tries to read the situation. Both of them sweaty, and breathing a bit fast, and barefoot -  _ gods,  _ ew, no.

“No, it’s okay,” Commander Tano says, a bit too fast, like she’s… is the  _ Commander  _ embarrassed? “I was just kicking your Captain’s ass in a sparring set.”

Rex shakes his head, wryly. “She wants to think that’s what happened, you better just let her,  _ vode. _ You need the room?”

Oh. Well, if they were sparring then maybe Alpha does not need to scrub out his eyes, but still. He glances at Beta, who shakes his head. “We’re just gonna… It’s okay, sirs, we’re just gonna go,” he says, nodding quickly. “I just remembered I promised I’d grab Naas a snack from the mess.” He had not done that, but little gods he would like to get out of here.

“Fine, trooper,” Rex says, with a small smile. He’s so unconcerned, Alpha is  _ pretty  _ sure he and Commander Tano were telling the truth about what they were doing - but  _ still.  _ Beta gives him a meaningful look, a  _ please let’s get out of here before this gets anymore embarrassing  _ look, so Alpha (still holding his arm) takes off down the corridor with a hasty salute at Rex.

He would very much like to not think about that ever again, holy  _ kriffing shit. _

“I think we should go to the mess,” Beta says, lightly.

“Yep,” Alpha agrees. For sure. Anywhere that the Captain and the Commander are  _ not  _ would be fine for now, kriffing hells. And he apparently promised Naas a snack. So Naas gets a snack. “Why did we have to end up with the battalion where the Captain and the Commander are… whatever they are,” he grumbles, rubbing his hand anxiously through his hair.

“Because  _ you  _ wanted General Skywalker’s battalion, Alpha,” Beta says, grouchily.

Well  _ that  _ isn’t fair, this is not his fault. Beta wanted to join the 501st, too. Still, Alpha stands by their decision: General Skywalker is the best. Better… better than other generals.

Although he’s a little iffy on whether it’s worth it if he has to see his  _ Commander  _ laying on top of his  _ Captain.  _ Ugh.

Maybe he’ll just pretend nothing happened. And have some caf. Both things. Both are good. Yep.

~~~

When Je’kai had first been informed that the Jedi would be working with Naas to help with his suppressed Force-sensitivity, he had  _ assumed _ (which was probably the problem, in all likelihood) that would mean, at the most, General Kenobi visiting the barracks more often than Je’kai and his men would like.

But today, Rex had approached him to let him know that  _ four Jedi _ (at least they are just ones Je’kai is somewhat familiar with, Kenobi and his padawan, Skywalker and Tano) would be coming to the barracks to work with Naas, or to--do something, at least, Je’kai does not much understand the Force. Rex has already told their men about the Jedi, and to go to the mess if they don’t want to be here; only a few have left. Most will stay, though it is not an easy thing, because they will be here in case something goes wrong. In case Naas is--

No. Rex has  _ promised _ that Naas will not be taken, and though Je’kai is not the kind to believe in  _ promises, _ he thinks Rex’s word holds weight.

After all, it is certainly not  _ Skywalker’s _ word that has kept Je’kai’s men safe. And it was not  _ Skywalker _ who took on Krell for their sake.

So Je’kai will trust Rex, in this, even though it is… difficult. Because Rex would not sell out his  _ vode. _

Still, when the four Jedi enter the barracks, Kenobi talking softly to Skywalker and Tano while the padawan trails behind, looking distinctly unamused. Interesting. Je’kai makes himself still, quiet, stays calm in his corner of the room and just  _ watches, _ waits. He will approach them when he must, but until then he will  _ observe, _ calm and careful. Because that is how he has survived thus far, and he is not yet prepared to change a sound strategy.

Not even for Captain Rex.

~~~

When General Kenobi asks if he can bring Kalifa  _ and  _ Ahsoka  _ and  _ General Skywalker to the barracks to work with Naas, Rex had very nearly refused entirely.  _ He  _ trusts his Jedi, but letting all of them in with his  _ vode,  _ who are still afraid… He has a responsibility to these men. So he tells them all to go to the mess, if they don't want to be here - and thinks he understands why most of them do not.

Naas is too important to them. Too vulnerable to leave to fend for himself.

That's why Rex sits by him on his bunk again when his Generals and their padawans come, and takes Orikih when Naas passes her over like he wants to make sure she's safe. Rex is not very good at loth-cats, he thinks wryly, struggling to hold the wriggling little thing still without squashing it. He grins half-heartedly at Ahsoka, shifts closer to Naas because, predictably, his  _ vod’ika  _ is trembling.

The barracks are  _ painfully  _ still. It makes Rex tired, this tension.

Kenobi sticks to his usual method of approaching Naas; walks over slow and careful, sits down cross-legged on the floor while Kalifa plops irritably down next to him (she's getting impatient with this process). Naas is somewhat comfortable with that, now - it's Anakin and Ahsoka that are the problem, the variables that Naas is not used to. If this were any other situation, Anakin's awkward, hesitant approach to sit just behind Kenobi would be hilarious - as it is, Rex has to put a steadying hand on Naas’ back - and it turns out he is not capable of holding a kitten in one hand. Orikih scrambles out of his fingers and pounces on Naas’ lap; she's gotten good at balancing on his armor. Naas wraps her up, quickly, in both hands and stares at Anakin and Ahsoka by turns as Ahsoka settles down more gracefully by Kalifa.

Rex nods encouragingly at her, says,  _ “Gar jate,”  _ very quietly to Naas.

Naas nods, quickly, stares down at Orikih, who is mewing irritably, presumably asking for more attention.

“Naas,” Kenobi says, very quiet, “We're just going to see if we can get a better idea of how you're doing and give you better shields so it keeps not hurting, is that okay?”

Naas is staring mostly at Anakin, shaky, and Rex waits, because Naas always hesitates, but he always lets Kenobi help him after thinking about it. The only thing he refuses to do is  _ not  _ call Kenobi “General.”

“Okay,” he says, even quieter than usual, scratching Orikih’s oversized ears.

“Okay.” General Kenobi doesn't try to touch Naas today, which is probably wise. “Anakin, Ahsoka, I've simply been trying to shield him from the Force and fend off the Dark, for now. Would you help me with that, please?”

Anakin glances at Rex, frowning, and Rex sighs and nods. This sort of thing is not Anakin's  _ strong suit,  _ per se, but Rex is sure he can manage it.

He'll  _ have  _ to.

~~~

Anakin is not so good at… this. Whatever this is. Not being scary. Usually his tall, handsome, masculine, intimidating-ness is  _ very helpful, _ on the battlefield and off it. But now he has a battalion full of troopers who are  _ afraid _ of his intimidating presence, and there’s only so much he can do to alleviate that.

And he is not so good at just  _ shielding, _ either, at ‘fending off the Dark’, because the Dark  _ likes him _ and it is  _ hard _ for him to push it away. He knows that, has learned it. Doesn’t think his Master has figured that out yet (which is honestly surprising, given how  _ smart _ Obi-Wan is and how long they’ve been bonded). But he will try his best, for Obi-Wan and for Naas, and in the hopes that the rest of his battalion will come to at least  _ start _ to trust him, if he does this. 

So, “Alright,” he says, and he closes his eyes and reaches out into the Force, finds the patterns of Naas’ thoughts and delves into them, seeks out the barely-there flame of his presence and--

And he  _ starts _ to put up shields, except there’s a memory that floats by (on a breeze of smoke) and he doesn’t  _ mean _ to get distracted by it, but--

_ Whose animal is this? _ and panic and  _ green _ through a little black loth-cat and Naas so, so small and silently begging  _ please no he’s mine _ and Anakin thinks he is going to be  _ sick. _

He jerks back from the memory,  _ hard, _ but he’s seen enough already and he can’t stop the flashback from swamping him.

_ He is small, and cold, and hungry, huddled in a ball on the floor in rags and staring up wide-eyed at his Master (and this is the Master before Watto, this is the Bad One with no name), “please don’t, Master, I’m so sorry,” and the Master snarls out, “you worthless little piece of banthashit, you think you have the right to own something?” and he begs, he does, please don’t, please no, reaching for the small robotic womp-rat he’d built, it’s his, his, his, please give it back, and the Master hisses and clenches his meaty fists and the delicate gears and wires crunch and crumple, and then there is the crackle-hum of a whip and no no no he didn’t mean it, please no, and he’s gonna punish Mom too and it’ll be all his fault, all his fault, all his fault… _

~~~

Naas does not mean to think of his cat again, his  _ old  _ cat, it’s just that General Skywalker frightens him  _ (better, worse)  _ and Orikih is  _ right here  _ and it’s very important that they not touch his cat, not again. And then he  _ feels it,  _ strange, not-right, someone  _ looking,  _ seeing him think about Ne’tra, and Naas catches the texture of the mind, the sound of it, and oh, oh no, he’s thinks it’s  _ the General. _

He didn’t want, he didn’t, they weren’t supposed to  _ know,  _ and his  _ cat,  _ and-

And there’s a little boy, curled over his knees on a floor and  _ worse, worse, worse,  _ he has blond hair and blue eyes and he  _ wants,  _ Naas can feel he wants but he’s  _ afraid,  _ and  _ Master  _ has something that the boy says is  _ precious, mine, important,  _ oh no, oh no, no. All so much  _ worse  _ and then a fist closes and  _ his favorite thing  _ shatters and the little boy is so  _ lonely and small and scared  _ and Naas has to help, so he ignores  _ fire-whip-my fault  _ and reaches for the little blue-eyed boy and pulls him into his arms.

_ It is not your fault,  _ he says, low and steady.  _ That he broke it and hurt you. _ The little boy has tangled hair, like straw, and Naas strokes it, thinks for a moment.  _ I am sorry that you lost something so important. But look, it is not always… worse. _ He digs for a second, finds  _ better, warm,  _ holds it out until the little boy takes it out of his hand.  _ See? Gets better, probably. _ He thinks. He’s not sure about that, yet, but he can hardly tell the boy that it  _ doesn’t.  _ So, better.

That’s when the image goes away, the dirt floor and the little boy and all of it, and Naas is by himself. Oh.

He thinks a moment, considers, shivers a little. The little boy, his name is Ani,  _ it  _ tells him. He shakes his head, scrubbing at his face, wishes he could just stay by himself, not here, because oh. Oh.  _ Ani  _ is General Skywalker. He doesn’t know what happened, if that was bad, maybe he should not have- He blinks, focuses, looks at all the Jedi and finds General Skywalker’s blue eyes (and he should not look, no eye contact, not good, no, you  _ don’t),  _ and finds they are the same eyes. So. So.

“Sorry,” he says, looking down and pulling Orikih against his chest. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what- Sorry.”

~~~

Anakin swallows hard, drops his gaze to his hands and tightens them into fists, watches the way the skin stretches over his knuckles, the flex and give of his muscles. He is not small anymore--if he ever encounters that… sleemo (whose name he can’t even remember, anymore) again, he’ll be prepared. He has the Force, and the Jedi, and a lightsaber, and he is safe now. They can’t hurt him anymore, but… but he still is  _ afraid, _ and the memories are still there, and he has never been able to let them  _ go. _

Suddenly there’s arms around him, and he jolts a little, looks down to see that Ahsoka’s scooted up to him and she’s  _ hugging him, _ the kriff, Snips? Not that he  _ minds, _ at  _ all, _ but--she doesn’t usually hug him.

Oh.

Shavit.

_ That’s awful, Master, _ she tells him silently, looking up at him, and he shrugs one shoulder and wraps one arm around her shoulders.

_ It was a long time ago, _ he says back, roughly, swallows again and looks away from her. He can’t quite bear to meet her eyes. He hadn’t wanted them to  _ know, _ hells, he is not good at any of this. He shouldn’t be here.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, quickly, pushes himself to his feet and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. Doesn’t look at anyone, least of all Obi-Wan or Naas, because  _ Force _ he kriffed that all up. Hells. He should’ve known better than to think he could’ve--done this right. He does so little right already, and this is so  _ sensitive, _ he--he should’ve known.

~~~

For just a moment, Naas thinks General Skywalker is upset at  _ him  _ and he didn’t  _ mean  _ to, there was just a little boy and Naas needed to help, he didn’t mean- But then he thinks about it again, looks, frowns. No, the General… should not apologize and should not leave because  _ worse, worse, worse, bad,  _ it tells him, but he can’t say anything, can’t, but if the General leaves then  _ worse  _ but he can’t say anything because  _ no noise, not here,  _ so he grabs Rex’s arm, anxious, tugs on it. “Rex, no,” he whispers, soft as he can. “You can’t let him leave, sir.”

Rex frowns at him, but then puts his arm around Naas’ shoulders and says, “Um, General, I think… Naas wants you to stay.”

Naas looks down so he feels a little more by himself, stares at little Orikih and pets her chin. So he jolts a little when General Skywalker says, “Alright,” and Naas watches his legs bend and him carefully sit back down so he’s next to General Kenobi.

It’s nice, with the shields, things hurt less.

He hurts a  _ lot  _ less. It’s good.

“I'm sorry, Naas. Didn't mean to make you or anybody else see that.”

Did… did the General just  _ apologize?  _ To  _ him?  _ Naas goes very, very still, dares to look at General Skywalker’s face because he doesn't understand, this has to be leading to  _ pain,  _ but no. The General looks  _ small,  _ hunched, and Naas thinks… thinks he's really  _ sorry. _

And that is… that is wrong for another reason entirely. He told Ani  _ not your fault,  _ and it's true, and- and- he doesn't know but he does not think, doesn't- doesn't-

General Skywalker should not be sorry for showing them that.

Naas hunches over, arms around his stomach, because you  _ cannot talk to the General,  _ you  _ do not, don't,  _ he  _ can't,  _ but. So. So. So. So. So.  _ Oh gods  _ he wants to be  _ by himself  _ but Ani still needs his help so. So. “It's okay,” he says, tries to be  _ calm. Better,  _ he needs better. “I didn't- You're okay, sir.” He leans hard into Rex's side, looks back down at the floor, breathes. Not bad, the General  _ understands,  _ he thinks, so. So. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.

Orikih mews cheerfully and Naas rubs her neck softly. He's okay. It's okay.

~~~

Anakin doesn’t want to  _ be here. _

_ Hells, _ he doesn’t want to be here, he wants--he needs to  _ go, _ to do something, preferably with his fists. He hates this. So much.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, and Anakin shakes his head, quickly. 

Says, “Don’t, Master, it’s fine.” For some reason, the word  _ Master _ tastes heavy and sparking on his tongue, today. He wants to  _ go. _ “I should--”

_ “Anakin.” _

He sighs, looks over at Obi-Wan, says, churlishly,  _ “What?” _

“It’s alright, Anakin.”

It’s not, but… whatever. If that’s what his Master (no, not good) wants him to think, then… Kriff. “Alright,” he says tiredly, wants to play with his saber hilt. He doesn’t. He has that much restraint, still. Instead he twists his fingers into his robes, pays attention to the feel and texture of the fabric beneath his skin, the way it slides and catches on his calluses. He is not  _ there, _ anymore, he is here, he is fine, he is  _ safe. _

So why can’t he  _ let go? _

He wants to go hit something. That will help. But Naas had  _ asked _ him to stay, wanted him to stay? He doesn’t know, it doesn’t make  _ sense, _ but--he doesn’t want to be here any longer, sitting surrounded by his men (who don’t know what’s going on and who don’t--he can’t just  _ tell them _ about how he’s so much of a failure of a Jedi, he’s not the Jedi he  _ should be, _ and if they know they won’t trust him and they already are afraid now, and, and, and), he wants to go  _ move. _

~~~

Kix likes to stick around when General Kenobi comes to see Naas; he thinks maybe his presence is reassuring, sometimes, so Naas knows no one is going to take him away.

Something has just  _ happened,  _ today, though, Kix can see and feel and hear that, and being this close means he can feel all their emotions, if he listens, and there are echoes of tension, fear, anger, loss, all twisted together so  _ tight,  _ and looking at them, at  _ General Skywalker  _ tangling his fingers in the fabric of his robes, Kix decides (realizes) that those emotions are almost entirely his General's.

Surely someone else can feel that, is going to say something about it, or at the very least try to comfort Skywalker, but they're all quiet and Rex looks confused and Naas - Naas looks worried, and he meets Kix’s eyes and shakes his head, very small.

Kix doesn't understand, why are they all acting like this and  _ what happened? _

_ Look, little one,  _ the Force says - which tends to be a bad sign, the Force always points out things in his patients and then tells him to fix them and he tries very hard not to be an idiot about it, but the Force gets insistent sometimes, kriff it - and Kix almost  _ sees  _ (knows?) Darkness, twisted up with the anger and the… something else. Guilt, he thinks, maybe.  _ Here, little one, he tips close to imbalance.  _ The Force doesn't make  _ sense,  _ Kix thinks, but he does think the tangled up knot of negative emotions and the threads of Dark between them is something they  _ have  _ to help General Skywalker with - but they're hardly saying anything.

_ Why aren't they doing anything about this?  _ Kix says, pulling himself back from the feelings.

The Force hums, almost.  _ They do not want-understand-see to know. He is  _ and an impression of something  _ tight,  _ small, hot and burning.

Kix gets up off his bunk where he's seated himself, and goes towards the little huddle of Jedi and his Captain and Naas, unsure what he should do, only that if no one else is going to say anything, he is. You don't karking leave a wound to fester.

“Sir,” Kix says, sitting down on the other side of Naas from Rex and pulling Anakin's gaze from his hands to Kix’s face. “What happened?”

“I accidentally saw one of Naas’ memories. Triggered a flashback, that's all.”

_ That's all.  _ Damn this war. “I see. Jesse and Sniper have those more than most of us.” He practically feel Jesse scowling at him. “Do they happen often?”

Anakin meets his eyes, almost glaring, and snaps, “I was a slave until I was nine years old, Kix, what do you think?”

_ There, little one,  _ the Force hums, but Kix ignores it.

“Anakin-” General Kenobi starts, and Kix talks over him, quickly.

“Who did you lose?”

It's almost always that, loss. Scratch told him once it was called survivor's guilt, that that was probably why some of their  _ vode  _ had worse flashbacks than others. Sniper’s used to be  _ dangerous. _ So Kix holds Anakin's eyes, tries to show he understands.

Anakin looks away from him and shakes his head, shoulders tight. “Lots of things. My mother.”

“I'm sorry.” Kix leans into the Force again, just feels more tension. Kriff, he doesn't - it strikes him that he doesn't know much at all about his General, in some ways.

Naas says something, very fast, then, his hands stilling on his tiny cat. “It was not your fault. All- all those things.”

Anakin shrugs, deliberately careless. “Most of it wasn't.” That's not the best answer, and Kix asks the Force for Light, wraps himself up in it so he can think better. And Anakin adds, very soft, “My mother was.”

General Kenobi looks  _ disapproving, _ almost, which makes no sense to Kix at all.

“Somehow I doubt that, sir,” Rex says, a bit wry, shaking his head. There's another pulse of  _ guilt  _ and Kix glances at Rex, shakes his head a little, so Rex adds, “You can't go blaming yourself for not doing enough.”

Anakin  _ laughs,  _ bitter, shaking his head, and General Kenobi is  _ definitely _ frowning. “But I can blame myself for not doing anything at  _ all,  _ Rex.”

And there, there is where Kix doesn't know how to answer. Because he has not yet found a way to forgive himself for leaving his wounded, for the times he doesn't have the supplies or skills to heal a  _ vod.  _ And Rex does not answer either, and Kix can't work out what his expression means, why he looks down, but he suspects Rex doesn't feel unlike him.

Kix cannot forgive himself for doing nothing, so how can he tell Anakin how to do it? Should they even be alright with that?

~~~

Anakin wishes they would just leave him  _ alone. _

Yeah, so he kriffed up. It’s his  _ fault, _ he’s long accepted that (even though that doesn’t make the burn of  _ loss _ less). His men (who he doesn’t really want to tell all this to) and his Master (who  _ cannot know, _ should never know) and his padawan (who is still too young) keep  _ prodding _ and poking and it’s--it just makes it all hurt  _ worse, _ makes it sting and stab and ache.

He sits still for a moment, watching his fingers in his robes, and then Ahsoka speaks--asks the question he’s sure they’re all thinking. (Except his Master, who thinks he  _ knows. _ He doesn’t know. Can’t know. No. Don’t--) “What  _ happened, _ Master?”

He doesn’t want to  _ tell them. _

Doesn’t want them to  _ know. _ To see how terrible of a Jedi he is, to see how--to see what he’s  _ done. _ If they  _ know, _ if the Council ever  _ learns, _ then he--they’ll expel him and he’ll have nowhere to go, and the Jedi bought him, if they send him away then he’s  _ nothing, _ he has nothing, he has his name and his lightsaber and his  _ self _ and that is all.

But--

“You want to know what happened, Snips?” he asks, calmly, looking up. Maybe if they  _ know _ they’ll  _ shut up _ and leave him alone with his guilt and his pain and his inadequacy. “Fine, I’ll tell you. I had Force visions of my mother dying in horrible pain. I ignored them. By the time I decided to go and look for her, it was too late.” He grits his teeth, clenches his hands into fists. “She’d been taken by Tusken raiders. I went after her. She,” and he doesn’t  _ want to _ tell them this,  _ Force, _ and he swallows hard, calm, calm, calm, “died in my arms.” He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. Opens them, smiles, twisted. “And then I got pissed off and murdered a bunch of sentients, and shit like that’s why the Council refused to accept me into the Order back when Qui-Gon first found me. Now,” and he pushes himself to his feet, easy, fluid, careless, “if you’ll excuse me, I have things to get done.”

And he pushes past the ring of troopers (and hells, hells,  _ hells, _ they  _ know, _ Force) and starts for the door.

He wants to go hit something.

~~~

Beta has been hearing nothing but  _ General Skywalker this  _ and  _ General Skywalker that  _ since Alpha first learned about the Jedi General, and for that reason knows most of the same statistics Alpha does: that General Skywalker has the lowest casualty rates of all the Generals, yet still managed to win more often than not; that General Skywalker’s battalion is the most efficient and effective,  _ period;  _ that General Skywalker himself is one of the best tacticians in the GAR.

Beta knows bad commanding officers, painfully well, and so he knows the kind of anger that is dangerous, that would rip him and his  _ vode  _ apart. He thinks this is a different kind,  _ more  _ dangerous is some ways but not dangerous to him. He leaves the small cluster of Torrent Company troopers that have been standing close to Naas’ bunk, starts after his General, because Alpha  _ idolizes  _ General Skywalker and Beta wants to understand. There are different kinds of anger, and he wants to understand how this General is the same person who apparently committed some form of mass murder.

“General Skywalker,” he says, sharp, remembers the General telling off Captain Tarkin for insulting him and his  _ vode  _ and Commander Tano, and him not minding Alpha being excited to meet him. He hurries over, plants himself in front of his General and looks him over quickly, evaluating. No, this is still not the kind of anger that will hurt him. “Sir, why’d you tell us that?”

“You asked, I answered,” his General says, very still and cool. “Now let me go, please, Beta.”

The  _ kriff  _ he will. Alpha looks up to General Skywalker too much for Beta to let him leave on  _ that  _ note. So Beta crosses his arms and grits his teeth and-

And sees Naas scurrying across the room, his cat balanced on one arm, and Beta gapes for a second (probably confusing his General, he doesn’t know) as Naas flings his free arm around General Skywalker’s middle from behind and buries his face in between Skywalker’s shoulder blades.

Well. That’s… the  _ kriff? _

“Why?” Naas is very muffled, and Beta suddenly feels awkward, so he nods in agreement and fidgets, sees Brii and Alpha coming over too and maybe he better just… back off a little.

~~~

Anakin tenses, swallows hard--and then  _ swears _ as little claws stab into his back through his robes and Naas’ loth-kitten, Orikih, clambers awkwardly up onto his shoulder.  _ Kriff, _ ow, that  _ hurts, _ damn it. The kitten bumps her oversized ears against his ear, and Anakin huffs out a breath, relaxing a little against his will.

_ Why, _ Naas asks, and Anakin swallows  _ hard, _ closes his eyes, lets out another long breath. “I don’t  _ know, _ Naas,” he says, tiredly, running one hand down his face. “I thought--I was angry, and they’d  _ tortured her, _ and I thought it would help, but it just made everything worse.” He shrugs one shoulder (the shoulder the kitten is not precariously perched on), reaches up with one hand to pet the little loth-cat, careful.

“Of course it did,” Naas says quietly, and what the kriff does that mean?

Anakin frowns, holds his hand out for Orikih to climb onto--the kitten purrs  _ loudly _ at the change, sits up on her haunches (nearly tips over, and he lifts his other hand to balance her, quickly), and pokes his nose with her own. Naas puts his other arm around his waist and holds a bit tighter, and this is… so weird.

“I want… you seem better. Than him,” Naas continues, in that halting way of his, so very careful and slow, and Anakin swallows and pets Orikih with a shaking hand. “You… wouldn’t do that again?”

What kind of question is that? “No,” he says, thick and heavy. “Of course I wouldn’t, that’s--I’m not a damned  _ Sith, _ Naas,” and  _ Force _ but he--no, he doesn’t want to think about that, about how close he’d come. To Falling. How much of a  _ disappointment _ he’d been, to himself and to his Master and to his wife and to the Jedi. And he still hadn’t  _ saved her. _

So of course he’s not going to do it again, because it’d been a slaughter, and it’d been  _ pointless, _ and she’s still dead and he couldn’t fix that.

~~~

Naas feels safer not seeing Ani’s face. It is easier hugging him, because maybe that helps, and then he can forget  _ Jedi, General, angry. _

And he says  _ of course I wouldn't,  _ and Naas was, was in his thoughts, saw his memory, and maybe. Maybe he believes him.

“You should not have,” Naas says, timidly, tightening his arms in case- he isn't sure.  _ Worse.  _ “But you… the sketchbook for Brii. My… The cat. Captain Rex said none of you would-” He doesn't want to  _ say it,  _ in case. He doesn't know  _ how  _ to say it, cannot. Has  _ never.  _ “He said you wouldn't take me. You were-” Gods. He can't. “I want to… to, to trust you.”

He feels someone put a hand on his shoulder and he's pretty sure it's Captain Rex but he doesn't want to look.

“You know you've earned  _ my  _ trust, sir,” Rex says, sounds reserved but determined, and Naas lifts his face away from General Skywalker’s back and turns to look at Rex - is he doing the right thing? Should he have said any of that? Rex smiles at him, just a little.

General Skywalker is  _ shaking,  _ and Naas doesn't  _ understand  _ for a moment, until he sees Ani’s head drop and Orikih appears to be nuzzling his cheek. Oh. Oh.

The  _ Jedi  _ is  _ crying. _

Oh dear. Is this supposed to happen?

Oh dear. Well. Rex? He isn't totally sure what to do. And is even  _ less sure  _ what to do when the small Commander puts both arms around the General from in front of him and Naas quickly pulls his arms away because he supposes it's her turn.

“Rex,” he whispers, peering at Orikih (he has to get her back, that is not good), “Is it- is this okay?”

“Yes,” Rex puts an arm around him, nodding. “You're fine, Naas.”

Okay. Okay good.

And then the  _ other two  _ come over too, General Kenobi and Kalifa, and Naas hangs onto Rex and wants it to just be him, by himself, except Ani still needs  _ help. _

~~~

Ahsoka presses her forehead into Anakin’s chest and takes a deep breath, trying to stay  _ steady, _ to stay calm. She reaches for his mind, projecting warm reassurance, hoping maybe if she can just be  _ still _ enough she can help.

She hadn’t expected much of a real answer, when she’d asked; she  _ certainly _ hadn’t expected an answer like  _ that one, _ delivered so calmly and precisely, in that smoothly dangerous voice he has. But to  _ hear _ him tell them all, like that, so  _ easily-- _ how his mother died, how he  _ killed people, _ she hadn’t--it’d been a  _ shock. _

But while she definitely think he needs--her Master needs  _ help, _ really, she doesn’t think any  _ less _ of him. Alright, so he kriffed up, which they’ll definitely have to talk about at some point, but--that doesn’t mean he  _ isn’t _ the brilliant, clever, funny (though she’d never admit that to him directly), bright man she’s come to see as an older brother, really. And he’s still a good teacher, and a great pilot, and amazing with his saber, and he’s still one of the best Jedi Knights in the Order, in her opinion, and he’s still the best General in the Republic, so.

So really. It’s okay.

She pushes all this at him and he just cries harder, hugs her with one arm (the other is still holding the kitten up by his face, and she’s surprised Naas hasn’t asked for her back yet), says silently,  _ Thank you, Snips. _

_ ‘Course, Skyguy, _ she tells him back, easy and calm.  _ You kriffed up, but you aren’t gonna do it again, and you’re sorry, right? So… one bad thing, one mistake, doesn’t change or negate all the good things, all the right choices you’ve made. So don’t have a pity party, Anakin. _ She pushes a thread of humor at him, so he knows she’s joking, and to her surprise he chuckles.

“Force preserve you if I ever did,” he rasps, and she pulls back and raises an eyebrow at him, rolling her eyes.

“You’re doing a  _ great _ job of it right now,” she says, teasing, and he  _ hmphs _ and swats her with the hand he was hugging her with. 

“Shut up.”

“Not in your wildest dreams, Skyguy,” and she grins, wide, pulls back and pets the kitten, because  _ wow _ she’s cute.

She thinks they’re going to be okay.

~~~

Obi-Wan does not feel able to face his padawan. He had a responsibility to teach Anakin, and help him, and be there for him, and he knows he’d been young and inexperienced for much of Anakin’s training years, but he had thought- Well, perhaps it doesn’t matter what he had thought.

How could all of this have been going on without him knowing about it? How did he not  _ see,  _ why did Anakin never say anything to him? Has he failed as a Master and friend so badly that Anakin thought he couldn’t tell him?

Perhaps, given his instinctive reaction, Anakin was right to doubt him. Master Qui-Gon had always had high expectations of him - in this, certainly, too high. To ask him to train the  _ Chosen One,  _ when he’d barely finished his own training… He’d done his best. But not so well as Anakin deserved.

But  _ Force,  _ all the same, as Anakin’s  _ friend  _ he should have noticed, should have felt- How could  _ Kix  _ see what he could not? Or… what he did not, perhaps,  _ want  _ to.

Obi-Wan gives Naas his space, determinedly releases the hesitation, the guilt, and steps around to look Anakin in the eyes. He should not find that so hard. The bond and Anakin’s eyes are both closed off to him, and he thinks he sees a fear there, of judgement, perhaps, and Obi-Wan despairs, for a moment, of ever bridging this gap between them that he’s somehow failed to notice for so long.

“I am… sorry, Anakin,” he says, heavily, just managing to keep himself from fidgeting with the sleeves of his robes. He is not sure how to even say what he’s sorry  _ for. _ He wishes Anakin had told him, but that can’t be helped now. He had not realized how… how  _ much  _ of everything there was, and he is ill-prepared to help. He does not think he would have responded the same way Anakin’s men have to this, and… and he is not sure he would have been right. Although this is certainly not the  _ Jedi  _ way of handling these sorts of things.

Force, he doesn’t know what he’s meant to do anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in honor of the NEW SEASON OF THE CLONE WARS (jsfkfghlskdfjghsdfjkghs), have another chapter!
> 
> we think there's only going to be one more chapter in this fic, and then we're going to be temporarily ending this series, with possible plans for a oneshot and a Zygerria rewrite in the vague, nebulous future. don't worry--like the Clone Wars itself, this series will not remain "unfinished" forever. the reason we are putting the series on a hiatus?
> 
> HUNGER GAMES AU.
> 
> Yep, you read that right! we've got in the works a rewrite of the _Hunger Games_ books, with our favorite Star Wars characters in all the key spots, so stay tuned! (also, eventually, there will be a Siege of Mandalore fic.)
> 
> enjoy! this chapter's fairly weighty, sorry about that. just more aftermath from Umbara, ofc.

Kix and Jesse and a couple others end up dragging chairs from the sabaac table over to make a semicircle around Naas’ bunk. Rex settles into a chair and Ahsoka doesn’t give him a chance to change his mind; she drops lightly onto his lap, sideways with her legs hooked over the arm of the chair, and leans her head into his shoulder, even though his armor is poky. Obi-Wan sits down in a chair and Kalifa drops to sit cross-legged at his feet, leaning back against his legs; Brii and Naas drag Je’kai (who looks  _ very displeased _ by this turn of events) over to sit on the bunk, and Anakin sits down in another chair. Kix is roped into the lopsided circle as well, which Ahsoka finds funny.

Naas has Orikih back with him, on his lap, and the kitten is purring loudly and headbutting his hand every few seconds, clearly displeased by him paying attention to someone who is  _ not her. _ Ahsoka wants to pet her.

Rex runs a hand down her back headtail, and she sighs, tilts her head into his hand and hums a little, closes her eyes for a moment. Everything seems to have  _ settled, _ some, but--Anakin still feels tense, unsure, and he keeps looking over at Obi-Wan like he’s  _ afraid. _ She thinks she understands--if the Council hears, she has no doubt they’ll find some way to expel him, even though he’s integral to the war effort. 

“So,” Anakin finally starts, nervously, and she opens her eyes and looks over at him. He’s twisting his fingers together and not quite meeting anyone’s gaze, and he almost looks… she’s not sure. “What are you going to tell the Council, Master?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, tucks his hands inside the sleeves of his robes. “I will tell the Council nothing,” he says, simply.

Anakin doesn’t really look like he quite believes that, but he nods a little.

“We still trust you, Master,” Ahsoka says quickly, because he looks uncomfortable, shifting in his chair.

He nods again, stares down at his hands, doesn’t speak, and she  _ aches _ to see him so subdued. It’s not  _ right. _

~~~

Rex learned very early upon becoming Captain of the 501st that Anakin Skywalker was a dangerous man. That in itself had been no surprise - Rex had expected and received a General who could take out an entire assault force of droids (with tanks) by himself. What had taken more getting used to was the edge of anger, the fact that sometimes his General went icy cold as a dead star ready to collapse on itself and seemed, in those moments, really  _ dangerous. _

But Rex had learned that that anger was not one that threatened him and his  _ vode,  _ and although it still concerned him, had grown to understand that there were things about his General that he didn’t know, and that that was alright because Anakin Skywalker was, above all other things, someone he could trust, who would not do anything to hurt the ones he loved.

Anakin’s admission has not changed that perception of him, Rex decides, although he cannot help some reservations, particularly with all his new troopers here and listening. The fact of the matter is that Anakin has always protected he and his  _ vode  _ and Ahsoka and strangers he barely knows, and if Rex cannot quite reconcile that with someone who, quote,  _ murdered a bunch of sentients. _

But then, he said they had killed his mother. And Anakin has always been easy to anger, and he is young, and impulsive, and-

Well, in truth, Rex does not understand. And he is concerned.

But he trusts his General, has since their first campaign together, and this one thing (even if it is an atrocity, something he cannot excuse) will not change what he thinks of Anakin, cannot cancel out every good thing Anakin is.

He sighs, shifts in his chair and adjusts Ahsoka on his lap so her weight is more balanced across his legs (and of course, she grumbles, but he doesn’t care, he has to be comfortable too thank you very much), then decides to say his own piece; his men need to know exactly where he stands, and Anakin… Anakin may need his honest answer, too.

“General,” he says, careful, “All due respect, but you’re a kriffing  _ mess.”  _ Anakin snorts, keeps staring at his hands, and Rex sighs and smiles at Naas, who’s gaping at him a little. “But I meant it when I said I still trusted you. You haven't… given me a reason to doubt you before, sir. I'm not going to start now.” He wants to tell Anakin that he considers him a friend, a… a brother, even; he wants to tell him that he's there for him, to help; hells, he wants to give him a hug like Naas and Ahsoka did. Instead he just meets Anakin’s eyes when his General looks up at him, offers him a real smile and a shrug of one shoulder.

Anakin seems to be searching his eyes, then he nods and looks down, and Rex sees him swallow thickly, twist his hands even tighter together until, if he was a  _ vod,  _ Rex would tell him  _ udesii,  _ take it easy. As it is, he just sighs a little anxiously and runs his hand lightly over Ahsoka's montral.

~~~

Kalifa doesn’t entirely know what’s going on; she’s tired and bored and she wants to go play with Jinx or do  _ something _ that makes sense. She wants to be somewhere where her Master isn’t blaming himself and angry at himself and telling himself he’s a terrible person and a worse teacher and… and really, what the  _ kriff, _ Master?

_ Master, _ Kalifa thinks, tilting her head back to look up at him,  _ you’re a good teacher. But I think Skywalker needs a hug right now. And if you don’t give him one,  _ **_then_ ** _ maybe you’ll be a bad teacher. _

_ You may be right, Kalifa, _ her Master says, and he pushes himself to his feet, crosses the circle, and puts a hand on Skywalker’s shoulder, squeezes lightly. “I think my padawan and I have a few things to discuss,” he says calmly. “If you would excuse us…”

No one says anything, and so her Master gives Skywalker a hand up and the two of them leave, though not without her Master giving her one last instruction.  _ Yes, Kalifa, _ he tells her, almost amused,  _ you can go play with Jinx now. _

Yes!  _ Finally, _ it only took him like an  _ hour _ to let her. She jumps to her feet, waves at Ahsoka (who has not yet gotten off of Captain Rex’s lap) and Captain Rex, and runs out the door of the barracks.

_ Finally. _ She’s tired of all the things she’s “too young” to understand.

~~~

It's not until the end of their third week of leave that Anakin awkwardly corners Rex and tells him that the GAR wants their reports all completed now, so that they can confirm the 607th's dissolution and integration into the 501st and have all the appropriate adjustments made and recorded before they're sent on another campaign. What that really means is that Anakin needs him to do his casualty reports, because he's finished everything else and that just leaves him with some two hundred and fifty casualty reports to fill out and sign. He should have been doing them overtime, already, but… it's been too hard. And technically, he could ask Je’kai to do the reports for his battalion because he had been their commanding officer still at the time of the battle, but he is not going to make his  _ vod  _ to sit down and sign almost a hundred reports with his number. Rex is their Captain now and he gave the orders for that attack and everything that followed, so the reports are his to do.

But Rex can't do them yet today, because right now he's eating lunch with Ahsoka in the  _ Resolute’s _ mess, something with rice and tubers and some unidentified meat that he's nearly done with.

“He’s talking more,” he says, in answer to Ahsoka's question about how Naas is doing. “Can get him to take off his upper armor these days, and he started painting his bracers.”

“That's good.” Ahsoka smiles, drinks the rest of her caf, then eyes her empty food tray grumpily. “I have that meeting today,” she sighs. “With Master Obi-Wan and Anakin, about what the Council wants to assign us after leave is up.”

Gods, yeah, going back to the war. Rex isn’t so worried about it for himself (hells, he’d like to be back to fighting already), but for his men, particularly the former 607th  _ vode…  _ he is worried about them. “If we have to run another gods-damned Felucia campaign I’m gonna eat my blaster,” he grumbles, rubbing his face.

“Apparently we have Felucia, for now,” Ahsoka says, chuckling at him. It’s not funny, Rex has had to fight to keep or regain Felucia so many times he’s lost count, literally. He doesn’t even want to try to figure it out again.

“Good,” he grumbles. “That should give me a few months before we’re back there.”

Ahsoka laughs at him again and smacks his arm. “We might hold it this time!”

Rex isn’t sure Ahsoka realizes that that’s a common joke among the  _ vode: “Yeah, and maybe we really won Felucia this time!” _ He smiles and nods, though, decides not to bring that up.

He picks at the last of his meal, for a second, then quickly eats the last few bites and starts on his water. Ahsoka plops her chin down on her forearms on the table and sighs noisily. “I don’t wanna go to that meeting, Rexter.”

“Mm,” he says, noncommittally, because his mouth is full.

“How are you supposed to just go back to the front? Does the 607th seem ready to you?” she huffs, glancing sideways at him.

“I don’t know,” Rex sighs, swallowing. “Probably not. But we already got the most leave we could because of the difficulties with them, so we’re going to have to work it out.”

Ahsoka scowls. “That’s stupid,” she proclaims, decisive, and Rex snorts.

“Maybe. But that’s how it is. Four weeks of leave is a luxury, you know that.”

“I do know that. It’s still stupid.” She looks absently at her wrist chrono, back up at her empty cup of caf, and then back down at her chrono with a sudden expression of alarm. “Well, I’m supposed to be there in five minutes.”

“If you run you might be on time,” Rex says, dryly, smiling. From the mess to the command center is  _ just  _ manageable, but it’s funny seeing her jolt out of her chair, smack him on the shoulder (this is not his fault), and take off out of the mess at a half-run. She leaves her datapad lying on the table, and Rex grabs it and starts to call after her but she’s already whisking out the door. Well, wonderful. He scrapes the last morsels of food off his plate, considers going after her to return the datapad- But he’s put off his reports long enough, and when he checks the list there are two hundred and seventy-two reports to sign, so he sighs, pushes his chair back from the table, grabs Ahsoka’s datapad and his own, and heads for his office.

He can get the reports started, and she’ll probably come find him after the meeting to get her datapad, so he has that to look forward to. Either way, they’re just reports, and he’s got to get them done, so it’s time to focus.

(Still, he doesn’t think he’ll be sleeping for the next few days.)

...

The first five reports are just as bad as Rex expected. He had thought, perhaps, that they would not be - they are just  _ (just)  _ casualties of blasterfire and mines, the typical carnage of battle, although he is fairly sure Key was one of the troopers he made Kix leave behind, so all he has to do is sign them  _ (CT-7567)  _ and submit them. But they are not easy, the numbers glaring at him and with each one a name, a dead  _ vod _ that does not even have a call-sign listed on the report. And they’re reports, it makes sense, it should not matter, but it does. Somehow.

He opens the next casualty form, reads  _ CT-4689 -  _ Lofty’s number - and stares down the block of blanks and boxes under the heading  _ Special Circumstances.  _ Lofty was killed in the skirmish with Ghost Company, so that will necessitate at least a brief line under  _ Cause of Death,  _ so. So Rex grips his stylus and carefully prints  _ friendly fire,  _ stares at it, signs his number. CT-7567.

_ Have I made myself clear, CT-7567? _

He submits that report too, pulls up the next two, writes the same thing: friendly fire, CT-7567. Both these  _ vode  _ were shinies, near enough, had just gotten their names. Cato and Biff. Biff had been real clumsy, always tripping over his own feet. Somehow even all his training hadn’t cured him of that.

He opens the next report and there it is again, blocky text printing two letters and four numbers, and  _ unit loss.  _ That’s the name of the form. Unit loss and a number, every time, and it has never bothered him so much before.  _ Not clones, men,  _ he told Krell, and he counts them every time, has a number of his own in his head,  _ how many did I lose,  _ because they are brothers. Men. Human.

Krell (and with him, so many others) wanted to make them  _ less,  _ and Rex can’t forget it. That Krell took their names and his, and everyone else does too, because they’re supposed to be units, numbers. And Rex didn’t protect his men from that because he didn’t know how, because there are rules and regulations and they are  _ not the same,  _ they are supposed to be soldiers and take what no one else is asked to, and that was supposed to be his code of honor. That he would be what he was supposed to be and barely anything more and so he let everything go on too long because in the end what difference did it make whether he had a name or a number, he’d chosen neither, and neither changed what he was.

But it  _ did  _ matter, to him, he found that, and the names mattered and  _ his  _ name mattered and it was no one’s to take, and they lost Hardcase and all Krell did was call him and Fives and Jesse by their numbers.

He has to finish these, so he sighs and opens the next, closes his eyes where the numbers flash white on the insides of his eyelids. It’s Chopper’s form, one of his oldest remaining  _ vode,  _ who carefully squirreled away droid parts so he could cope with all the brothers he lost to them, and Rex had told him once  _ stop taking those, it’s against regs and I expect proper protocol to be observed in my battalion.  _ He’d rescinded that order, later. Too much later, he thinks.

Friendly fire. CT-7567.

He rubs his forehead, submits the report, struggles his way through some five or ten more (CT-7567, CT-7567,  _ do you have a malfunction in your design _ ). If he’d have just been different, been better, he could have  _ stopped  _ all this from happening, could have stood up for himself and all of them. And Fives was right, he just followed Krell because that was the way things were, that’s how he was supposed to think, and maybe if he’d just- he doesn’t know, done something different.

Next karking form.

_ Unit loss: CT-8833 _

Hardcase.

Hardcase who had, almost proudly, informed everyone on first acquaintance with them that his growth tube was kriffed up so he was  _ hyperactive, _ pronounced the word with a certain self-importance that said he knew this would intrigue all of them. Hardcase who had somehow decided that he could do anything General Skywalker could do and frequently  _ tried.  _ Hardcase who had, so Fives told Rex later, sacrificed himself to destroy the Umbaran supply ship, only for his  _ vode  _ to come back and immediately face court-martial and execution.

Rex twists his stylus between his fingers. He knows he’s supposed to make some mention of Hardcase dying in an unsanctioned (and therefore insubordinate) attack, and then sign the report, and submit it, and move on to the next dead brother. Two hundred and seventy-two reports that no one will ever read, will just shuffle into a file somewhere for reference should anyone anywhere care that one in a billion clones is dead. Two hundred and seventy-two reports that do not allow them to have names.

He tries, nonetheless, but has to stop on the word  _ unsanctioned  _ because he knows how it will be read. Insubordination, defective. A mistake in the batch. And no more thought to it. To his  _ vod,  _ his younger brother, lost and gone.

Tries again, makes it a few words in,  _ mission successful despite-  _ and stares again, breathes in and out,  _ death of the unit. _

_ Authorized CO: _

He should be able to write it, he has done it  _ thousands  _ of times, can pretend it is just a serial number or equation, unrelated to him, not something used in place of his name. But he cannot, now, can’t write his number under the labelled  _ CT-8833. _

Hardcase, Chopper, Lofty, Waxer, Hawk, Bren, Ak, Feather- they all have  _ names,  _ and  _ no one cares,  _ but he’s lost so many of them and now he’s just supposed to sign  _ reports  _ like he signs equipment loss forms and it’s not right, this is not how they’re supposed to remember their  _ vode,  _ and Rex does not want to do this. Can’t. He stares at the datapad and tries not to hold onto his stylus too hard, only the plastic presses into his fingers and helps, some, and if he does not focus on the feel of the stylus in his fingers then he’ll be staring at the screen and the number, CT-8833. He can’t do these, he doesn’t know how he can, because if he has to write it again, CT-7567, he might be sick. As it is, the stylus cracks and bends in his fingers and he quickly, neatly sets it down by his datapad, curls his hands over the edge of the desk and lets the wood dig into his palms.

He is not a number, is  _ not, _ and his  _ vode  _ are not either, they keep making him one and Krell calls him  _ clone  _ and  _ CT-7567  _ instead of his name and he should  _ never have let that happen,  _ because now here he is with two hundred and seventy-two times he has to give up his own name for a birth number and he  _ will not. _ So he clings to the edge of his desk and closes his eyes and drops his head and tries to breathe, because he cannot do this, cannot, he should have been better, done more for his  _ vode,  _ he doesn’t know how to do this, to help them, he can’t-

And gods, kriff, his door opens and he doesn’t dare move, for a moment, because “Hey, Rex, I left my datapad-”

Ahsoka, right, he had- she left her datapad with him and she needs it, so he carefully frees one hand from the desk, pushes her datapad in her direction and stares at his desk where maybe she won’t notice, won’t- He has to be  _ gentle  _ with the datapad because part of him wants to grab it and hurl it in her direction, make her take the karking thing and  _ leave. _

She doesn’t do that. Instead, he hears her footsteps come soft around his desk and then she’s in front of him, leaning against his desk, and he watches her hand rest on his over her datapad. Her touch is gentle, and her voice more so when she asks, careful, “What’s wrong?”

And  _ gods,  _ he doesn’t know how to answer that, doesn’t want to try, but he pulls his hand back to grip the edge of the desk again and stares at the cracked line down the middle of his stylus and says, “I  _ can’t,  _ ‘Soka.” He doesn’t even know what he means, just that he needs- he doesn’t know what to do, how to face any of this, and the fact that  _ this is the way things are  _ suddenly  _ terrifies  _ him.

~~~

Ahsoka is halfway to the command center when she realizes she doesn’t have her datapad.

Her datapad, containing those reports she was  _ supposed _ to have sent in like, a week ago, that she kept forgetting to do.

_ Shit. _

Well, it looks like she’s going to be late. Again. The Council can deal with it.

She turns and jogs back for the mess--if she’s going to be late already, she’s not gonna karking  _ sprint _ everywhere, that’d just be dumb--but as soon as she steps in she sees that Rex is gone and her datapad is nowhere to be found. He must’ve taken it with him. “Hey, Fives,” she says, and the ARC trooper looks over at her, “where’s Rex? I left my datapad and I  _ really  _ need it or the Council will yell at me. Again.”

Fives shrugs and says, “I think he went to his office to do some reports the GAR’s been bugging him for.”

Well,  _ great. _ At this point, she might as well skip the meeting entirely. It’ll be great trying to explain to Anakin later why she didn’t come, but… if she doesn’t have her datapad, there’s no point in going  _ either, _ she’ll just get lectured. Actually, she’s probably going to get lectured no matter  _ what _ she does, so…

Well.

“Thanks, Fives,” she says with a tired sigh, and he snorts.

“Good luck making it to your meeting, Commander.”

She laughs, waves a hand dismissively, leaves the mess behind and starts for Rex’s office. His office is nearly all the way across the ship from the command center, which is  _ dumb; _ she walks at a fairly normal pace there, because again, the meeting started two minutes ago and there’s no point  _ now. _ Hmph. 

By the time she makes it to Rex’s office, she’s decided she doesn’t care what the Council thinks and it’ll be nice to have the extra time to spend with him. She grabs the doorknob, twists and pushes it open, says casually, “Hey, Rex, I left my datapad--” and stops.

Because Rex’s datapad is carefully placed in the center of his desk with his stylus (cracked and bent nearly in half) next to it, and he himself is sitting  _ frozen, _ eyes focused on his desk, every muscle so tense she can see their individual outlines, his fingers locked tight around the edge of his desk. He swallows hard, convulsive, doesn’t look at her, doesn’t  _ move,  _ and she thinks--she thinks there might be barely-suppressed tears in his eyes.

One hand pushes her datapad (which she notices sitting on the side of his desk) towards her; she decides to ignore that, for now, instead closing the door lightly behind her. Paces soft around his desk and leans against the edge, resting one of her hands gentle over his hand where it’s still touching her datapad. 

She takes a careful, deep breath and then says, calm, quiet, slow, “What’s wrong?”

“I  _ can’t, _ ‘Soka,” he says, tugging his hand away from her and grabbing the desk again, and she swallows, pushes herself off the desk, nudges his knees apart so she can step in between them, and she laces her fingers through his hair and tugs his head to rest against her chest, slowly.

“Alright,” she says, quiet, her other hand resting on his shoulder. “Alright, it’s okay, Rex. You can--you can talk to me, if you want to.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, rough, wraps one arm around her waist and clings tight. “I don’t… know how, I don’t--” and he cuts himself off, goes quiet again.

“Okay,” she says again, swallows a lump in her throat  _ (Force, _ he’s so--she’s never seen him like this before). “Tell me what to do, Rex, tell me how I can help you.” That’s all she  _ wants, _ to help him.

In answer, he puts his other arm around her and tugs her closer, and she has to close her eyes against a wave of emotion; he tightens his grip again and she shifts so she’s sitting down in his lap, bringing his head to rest against her shoulder, and she slides her free arm around his shoulders and holds him as best as she can, even though she’s small and she can’t wrap all the way around him like he can around her.

“I’m here,” she soothes, runs her hand up and down his spine, presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Right here, Rex, I’ve got you, I promise.”

Kriff that dumb meeting, anyway. This is so much more important.

~~~

Maybe if he just holds on tight enough to Ahsoka, if she holds on tight enough to  _ him,  _ Rex can stop hearing his number circling clinical and not-him in his head - maybe if he just gets  _ close  _ enough it will be easier to remember he is  _ human.  _ He does not mean to cling so hard, but he is shaking and sick and he needs to not think about any of it, please, or else he needs to scream about it till his voice is hoarse but either way, all of it suddenly burns hot and devastating, and his ‘Soka is right here, right here, and it’s a little easier if he can feel her.

“My Rex,” she says, a little choked, and her hand traces up and down his back and that is good, that helps. “My  _ oran,  _ remember?”

Gods. Rex leaves his face pressed against her shoulder, takes a shaky breath. He can do this, he has to- He doesn’t know but he needs her, needs to not be  _ choking  _ anymore.

“It’s okay, Rex, I’ve got you,” she says, very soft, and he doesn’t mean to let it but a strangled sob caves his chest in, just one, and her arms tighten and he almost wishes more tears would come but they don’t. “It’s okay, let it go,” she tells him, and he  _ would,  _ but it all aches too much and nothing comes besides heaviness.

“‘Soka, I'm- I'm sorry, I can't-” He wants to  _ tell her,  _ wants to explain, but choking, but CT-7567 and the numbers and all the time he wasted thinking- he doesn't  _ know. _ “I'm sorry.”

“Okay, it's okay.” She combs her fingers through his hair, careful, and Rex pulls back a little and puts a hand on her cheek, leans and kisses her, hard, because it helps, some,  _ close  _ helps. He leans his forehead against hers, swallows hard and puts his arm back around her.

“I'm- trying to work on my reports,” he says, roughly. “I have to do casualty reports, I've been- avoiding them, but I can't  _ do them.” _

“Okay.” Ahsoka eases her hand slower on his back, says, very soft and light, “Why?”

Because he  _ can't,  _ because of the damn  _ numbers-  _ He swallows, and sighs, and reaches for his datapad, keeps his touch light, turns it back on and shows her the form, with Hardcase’s number at the top and the blank for him to sign and the  _ cause of death  _ and all of it. “I'm supposed- to write my number on this line, I have to do that for all of them.” He is careful, when he sets the datapad back down, not to do what he wants to and slam it on the desk. “I  _ can't,  _ ‘Soka, but I've got- I have over two hundred left to do and I-” He shrugs, closes his eyes and holds on to her as tight as he dares, repeats, “I can't.”

~~~

Ahsoka doesn’t even  _ breathe, _ for a moment, just tightens her grip on Rex and holds herself perfectly still, so that she doesn’t  _ rage _ and upset this entire delicate balance she’s managed to find. It’s not  _ right, _ making the clones use their numbers that way. Turning them into  _ less, _ like they aren’t Human, like--she doesn’t know. It gnaws at her, sharp and angry, and she swallows hard.

Asks, careful, “Why can’t you use your name? It’s who you  _ are, _ more than some randomly-assigned number.”

“Because of the records,” he rasps, “they don’t have us on file under our names, so we have to sign with birth numbers.”

_ “Hells,” _ she murmurs, under her breath, swallows hard. “I didn’t know--I’m  _ sorry, _ Rex.” There are so many things about how the GAR and the Kaminoans and everyone treats her men that she doesn’t  _ know, _ and she resolves to herself to find out. Maybe she can’t fix anything, but maybe she’ll be able to change  _ something, _ for the better. “I love you, Rex.”

“Love you too,” he says, soft.

There’s silence; she sits with him and holds him close, as though that could be enough, as though that could ever replace the men he’s lost. “You know,” she finally starts, swallowing hard around the emotion in her throat, “the Kaminoans, the GAR, they’re--wrong. You’re all  _ people, _ not… what did that form say?  _ Units. _ You aren’t units. Because units don’t have…” and she pauses, unsure how to say this. “If I close my eyes,” and she does, “and reach out into the Force, just--the currents of it, this ship… it’s like looking at the night sky. All the stars glowing,” and they do, some brighter, some dimmer--and there’s Kix’s steady flame and Naas’ dimly wavering ember and Anakin’s inferno, and all the troopers each with their own unique feel, “except the stars are  _ you, _ Rex, all of you, complex bright spots of  _ life. _ If you were  _ units, _ if you weren’t  _ people, _ it wouldn’t feel that way. I’d just see dead space.” Rex himself glows warm and bright, so close to her, and she smiles, instinctively drops her head to rest on top of his, letting out a soft sigh.

“Here,” she breathes, suddenly, keeping her eyes closed, “I’ll show you.”

And she nudges his Force-signature, his mind, light and gentle like knocking, until he hesitantly drops his rudimentary shields (that she could break through in a second if she wanted to), and then she hums,  _ look, see? _ and shows it to him, the whole of the Force around the ship, like a galaxy in a bottle, thousands of tiny stars glittering and jeweled winking at him, and she indicates one, says,  _ that’s Fives, and Jesse, and Echo, and Tup, and there’s Brii and Naas and Je’kai, and over here is Alpha and Beta, see? Do you feel it?  _ And she changes his view, shows him Kix and Tuck and Sniper in the medbay, shifts again to the technicians on the bridge--and then she shifts back to the medbay with an impression of a frown.  _ He’s not supposed to be using the Force until Obi-Wan teaches him how to not burn himself up, _ she thinks, and  _ oops, _ Rex heard that. Right. Focusing.  _ But--do you see it, Rex? Look,  _ and she shows him  _ himself, _ from her eyes, the way he glows, not a number, not a unit, just  _ Rex, _ the one and only Rex in the whole galaxy.

~~~

The thing Rex notices most, he decides, is how they all feel  _ different.  _ At first it’s just all confusing and he  _ feels  _ something like sparks, spots of warmth all the same and that is  _ life,  _ and he listens almost hungrily because those are his  _ vode,  _ she’s right, they’re all there and  _ alive  _ \- and then he finds a way to focus, when she points out Fives to him, and he  _ knows  _ it’s Fives because it doesn’t  _ feel  _ like anybody else although kriff him if he has idea why that is. And they  _ all  _ do, every single one, feel like nobody but themselves, and he knows  _ all  _ of them.

_ Oh,  _ he thinks, carefully, drops his head against Ahsoka’s shoulder, and she presses a feeling at him, of warmth and fire and light and, at the moment,  _ pain,  _ but also strength and it takes him a moment to recognize that she’s showing him  _ himself. _

_ Oh. _ Something aching in his throat and chest feels like it cracks, small, and he exhales long and slow, feels tears squeezing past his closed eyelids, and he tries to communicate he wants her  _ not in his head  _ because it's too much, and the feeling of all the lives and  _ her  _ is gone but she's still right here. “I should have known, I- I believed them, I didn't- My brothers needed me not to and I just-” Little gods, he doesn't even know what he's saying. “I didn't understand, I was too scared, I didn't- I should have protected them better, they didn't have anybody else and I just- I couldn't do it.”

Ahsoka runs her hand over his spine between his shoulder blades. “You did what you could, Rex, we all know that. Nobody blames you.”

“I  _ didn't,”  _ he snaps, then catches himself and swallows. “I just kept letting it get worse, and I ordered Kix to leave some of our wounded-” and he had never had to do that before, and it was necessary but now what? “-and if I wasn't a  _ clone  _ no one would have expected me to keep following him and I shouldn't have, I should have protected my  _ brothers.” _ He lifts his face off her shoulder long enough to scrub at his eyes, then he hides again, tries to just be  _ still. _

“We do what we must,” she says quietly, kind of raspy.  _ Gods  _ he's glad she's here. “I'm so sorry, Rex, but you did it. You protected them.”

“No.” He shakes his head, hard, choking, and another small sob forces its way out of his throat. “I  _ killed  _ them, ‘Soka, I killed my  _ vode  _ and if I'd just- they were  _ my family.” _

“Who gave the order to bring Krell in?” Ahsoka asks, patient. “That was  _ you,  _ my Rex.”

And he's glad he did, that was- the only choice he had, really, the only right one, but, “And it took me killing my  _ own brothers  _ to get me to do it. Never mind everything else he did, I couldn't- I shouldn't have let it go on so long.” Wouldn't have, if he didn't- didn't think, what, that they deserved better? Should  _ fight  _ for better? He's not  _ sure. _

~~~

_ Hells. _

It’s all Ahsoka can do to swallow back the tears in her eyes, the lump in her throat, to keep herself  _ calm _ and steady. “Rex. Look at me.” He picks his head up off her shoulder, and she tugs her fingers free from his hair to cup his cheek, swiping her thumb under his eye to wipe away the tears there. “No, you shouldn’t have,” she agrees, soft, “but--you were only trying to do your duty, and you didn’t know what else to do--no one would’ve known what else to do--and you  _ tried, _ Rex, you tried your best, and that’s--that’s what’s important, I think. That you found ways to protect your brothers without making Krell too angry at you. If you’d defied him sooner, I don’t… he could have  _ hurt _ you, Rex, so much more than he did.”

“So?” he says, miserably. “I just--I should have tried, it’s not--it wasn’t  _ right, _ I wish I could have done something else because it  _ hurt, _ ‘Soka, and I couldn’t--couldn’t help.”

She swallows hard, keeps soothing her one hand up and down his spine, bringing his forehead to lean against hers with the other. She should have  _ been there, _ she thinks, tiredly; maybe she could’ve done something. At least helped a  _ little. _ “I know, I’m sorry,” she breathes out, choking. “Being helpless is always the hardest.” She remembers him holding her back, tugging her away from the woman and from O-mer, even though she was  _ screaming _ for him to let her  _ go, _ because she wouldn’t,  _ couldn’t _ be helpless, she had to  _ do something. _ “No one blames you, Rex.”

“I blame myself,” he whispers, and  _ Force, _ she’d known that, but still--to hear him say it, so heart-wrenchingly vulnerable and  _ aching, _ it rips at something deep within her soul.

“I know,” she says again, and she can’t quite keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks this time. “I know, it’s okay, I forgive you.” Always.

_ Snips, where the kriff are you? _ Anakin asks, nudging her mind, and  _ hells _ why does he always pick the worst times?

_ Not  _ **_now,_ ** she snaps back,  _ Rex is actually talking to me about Umbara, I’m not coming to the stupid karking meeting. _

Anakin feels  _ confused, _ but he pulls back, albeit with an impression like  _ we will be discussing this later, _ and she’s sure they will, and she’ll say the exact same thing, so he can kriff off.

Rex is more important.

~~~

This close, Rex can see the tears glimmering down Ahsoka’s cheeks, and he doesn’t know what he expected her to say but not that, certainly. He had not expected her to _forgive,_ to understand that he couldn’t hear _not your fault_ right now, and he tilts his head to kiss her again, even though they’re both crying. Then he shifts, tugs her close so he can bury his face between her montrals, manages, “I just wish it hadn’t happened, _aden’tra,_ I don’t want to do this.” He doesn’t know how. “I want… want _better options,_ I don’t want this to happen to my _vode.”_ It is not _fair,_ he thinks, but does not say. Not fair that they don’t get choices. He told Cut that they didn’t get to decide if they wanted to fight or not, and it had made _sense_ to him at the time. But Cut was right, what feels like ages ago now, they should get to _pick_ like everyone else, but they _don’t._ And it was easier when he was okay with that, but then it made him fail his _vode,_ so… _no good options._

She sighs, sniffling a little. “I know, Rex, it’s not fair. I promise you, though, as soon as I can I’ll- Anakin and I, we’ll talk to the Council on your behalf, see if we can figure something out.”

Rex doesn’t really think that will do them any good, but he doesn’t say that. He just shrugs and doesn’t bother trying to keep himself from crying, although he doesn’t find he has many tears in him, just small hiccuping sobs. It’s all too much, and he doesn’t know how to just… do things the same, now. Like his reports.

“He threatened Fives with his saber,” Rex says, straightening up after a moment, trying to keep his voice steady. “I ordered a retreat on one of our assaults and he was telling me I shouldn’t have, pushing me around, and Fives defended me.” He smiles, vaguely, because for just a moment it had been gratifying, hearing Fives speak up for him, incensed,  _ surely you won’t “fail” to recognize that!  _ “Krell put his saber up to his neck, just about, told him to stand down. I- was angry, I would have challenged him if he’d made me think I had to, but he backed off, so I didn’t.” He had thought maybe he made his position clear enough, and then after that… then after that he realized the saber was not exactly an  _ idle  _ threat. “Sometimes I think I should have- if I’d tried it then, with most of my men still, maybe… I don’t know.”

Ahsoka almost  _ growls,  _ arms tightening around him. “If I’d been there I would’ve killed him for that.” Rex snorts, despite himself, somewhere between gratefulness and amusement. She sighs, then, says, “I think if you’d tried it then, the 607th wouldn’t have followed you, and you would’ve gotten killed.”

“Maybe not,” Rex says noncommittally. “We could have- I don't  _ know,  _ Ahsoka.” He just wishes it had been different, wants suddenly to tell her  _ everything,  _ how ineffective he felt, how he didn't know how to protect his men from a  _ Jedi,  _ how all the battles were disasters and Krell made some part of him viscerally terrified and Krell getting into his space and taking his name and trying to make him execute his brothers and how it had all  _ felt. _ But it’s too much all at once, so he just lifts one hand to touch her headtail, shakes his head. “He was  _ dangerous,  _ I knew it, he- He just threatened everyone, so easily, and then walked away like he  _ knew  _ we wouldn’t do anything.” He doesn’t want to admit how  _ scared  _ he’d been, even though there was not one second when he would have given in to the instinct that told him to  _ be silent, don’t fight, just hide. _

~~~

Ahsoka tightens her arms around Rex’s shoulders and chest, meets his eyes, pulls one hand back to trace his cheek, soft and careful and gentle. “I’m sorry, Rex. Sorry you had to--deal with that.”

He laughs a little, bitter and tearstained, says, “Yeah, me too.”

Ahsoka swallows hard, tightens her hold again, sighs. He just holds her, for a long few minutes, calming, slowly (she nudges him just a little, broadcasting  _ calm, _ Light). And then he sighs, reaches out and picks up his datapad, turns it back on. “I… have to finish them,” he says, soft, rasping. Reaches for his stylus, and then just… freezes.

“I’m right here,” she soothes. “Not going anywhere, I promise.” Shifts herself off his lap and onto the edge of the desk, allowing him to scoot up close to it again--close enough she can still easily reach him, but with enough space that he can work.

He nods, picks up the stylus again, brings it over to him, poised and ready to sign, and then just… stares at the datapad, clenches his fist--she puts one hand over his hand, rubs the tension away, laces her fingers through his. “It’s okay, my Rex.”

~~~

“I can’t,” Rex whispers, eases his thumb over his broken stylus to push it back into shape, staring at the black line where he has to write it, two letters and four numbers. He feels sick - so how’s he supposed to do this over and over and over again?

Ahsoka squeezes his free hand, lightly, sweeps her thumb across his hand, down to his wrist, and he grits his teeth, drags everything as tight back into a corner of his mind as he can, and locks himself down so he might be able to breathe right, and he manages it.  _ CT-7567. _ Ahsoka leans close, kisses his temple, tightens her fingers on his hand again. And he opens the next report - this one a  _ vod  _ named Pill who’d been killed by Krell in the forest, so he prints a line about “combat with Pong Krell during attempted arrest.” Faces the line again, Ahsoka says, “My Rex,” and he does it again. CT-7567. And again and again and again until at some point he's stopped thinking about anything but the number and Ahsoka, the two things all mixed up in his head, and he's nothing but stone that burns and four numbers and a hand on his hand and fingers in his hair, tracing over his scars.

_ CT-7567, do you have a malfunction in your design? You pulled your forces back from taking the capital! _

“It's okay, Rex, I'm right here.”

_ That is my order, and you will follow it explicitly! Do I make myself clear,  _ **_CT-7567?_ **

_ You are making a mistake by crossing me, clone. _

_ You will execute them, and you will do it now. _

**_No._ **

_ You should have listened to the ARC trooper from the beginning, Captain. He was right. I  _ **_was_ ** _ using you. _

Rex is keeping count of how many reports he's done, so somewhere around the one hundred mark, in a blur of nausea and Krell’s voice overlapping and blending with Ahsoka's, he submits one more report and turns off the datapad, curls his hand around his stylus so it snaps the rest of the way in half, and reaches almost blindly for Ahsoka, pulls her off the desk where she's been sitting and into his chest. He closes his eyes and buries his face in the curve of her shoulder, so he doesn't have to look at her when he asks, “Please, I need- I have to finish these tomorrow, can you- Can you be there? Please?”

He feels Ahsoka comb her fingers through the hair on the side of his head, leave her palm against his temple as she answers. “Yeah, of course, Rex.”

Tightening his arms around her waist, he straightens up, meets her eyes (steadying, blue, so  _ sad  _ but gods, so  _ safe),  _ presses in for an aching kiss because he needs to feel alive, human,  _ please.  _ “I don't know what'll happen to us after,” he whispers, like he'd told Fives -  _ after  _ is something they do not think about because they are for war, and if they think about that too much- He shakes his head, rubs his face with one shaky hand. “I don't know, never mind. I should… the men.” Then he realizes something else and cringes. “You had your meeting, ‘Soka.”

“Yeah, I  _ had  _ a meeting,” she says determinedly. “I decided you're more important, so I skipped it.”

That warms something deep in his chest, but Rex smiles a little and says, “You were too late to go already, weren't you?”

She huffs and glares at him. “Well  _ yes,  _ but you're still more important.”

He chuckles a little, lets go of her and nudges her to get off his lap so he can stand up. He's been working on this for nearly three hours now, so he really better check on his  _ vode. _ Ordinarily, he'd still prefer that Ahsoka not spend very much time in the barracks, but he hesitantly takes her hand, privately hoping she stays but a little too ashamed to ask.

“Gotta go back to the barracks,” he says, scooping up her datapad to pass to her because he wouldn't put it past her to forget again. “Naas gets anxious if I'm gone too long, haven't really figured out why yet.” The kid's gonna have to learn not to worry like that, eventually, but Rex is in no place to deny any of his new men their coping mechanisms.

Ahsoka squeezes his hand, leans into his side a little. “Can I come?”

_ Please.  _ “Yeah, sure,” he says, smiling. Naas has been less anxious about her lately, and by extension the rest of the 607th, so it'll be alright. Besides, he- he needs her.

So he holds her hand and they leave his office and Rex does his level best to re-compartmentalize  _ everything  _ back into the locked box where he can ignore it and focus. It doesn't work, entirely, but at least some of it is  _ less,  _ and he can straighten his shoulders and set his face in something like a half-smile and focus on his men, his  _ brothers. _

~~~

The battalion seems less anxious around her today, for which Ahsoka is grateful; she doesn’t want to leave Rex alone right now, doesn’t think she  _ should. _ He still feels tired and worn to the bone and  _ sad, _ and she thinks he needs her.

They spend a while just making the rounds, Rex talking to his men, Ahsoka mostly just staying quiet and steady and calm at his side with her fingers twined through his, and then Anakin comms and she has to go explain to him where she went.

It’s a short conversation, mainly because she glares him into submission and then walks off. And she still has reports to finish up, even though it’s evening, so she stops by her room to grab her sleepclothes and her fluffy blanket and then she lets herself into Rex’s room and settles in on his bunk and gets to work. She has a feeling he’ll be coming back here to sleep tonight. And even if he doesn’t, his pillow smells like him (like gunmetal and smoke and a thunderstorm), and she thinks she’ll sleep better tonight if she’s in his room.

He does come, though. Lets himself in and then stops to kinda stare at her, before shrugging and starting to peel off his armor. It’s not so unusual for her to be here, really, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Rex comes and curls around her, buries his face in her montrals, and tonight, at least, when he wakes up from nightmares she can  _ be here, _ she can  _ help. _

The next morning he wants to work on reports right away, so she grumbles and uncurls herself and gets dressed, leaves her fluffy blanket on his bunk and follows him to his office. Offers him her stylus, “as long as you don’t break it,” which draws a little smile out of him (not as much as she’d hoped for, but a smile is a smile). And then he’s settling into his chair, and she’s perching on his desk again, taking his left hand in both of hers and rubbing her thumb soothingly over his knuckles, calming.

And it’s not easy, and it  _ hurts, _ but she thinks it’s almost like the time she’d gotten a bad slice on her arm and hadn’t gone to the medbay, until it’d closed up and turned all swollen and red and puffy and  _ angry; _ Kix had had to reopen it and drain out the infection (which had hurt like  _ hells) _ before any real  _ healing  _ could begin. 

She thinks this is like that. Rex has been shoving this all down for  _ weeks, _ not letting himself feel it, and in all that time the gashes on his heart have begun to fester. And it’s taking reopening them, it’s taking  _ pain, _ but she thinks finally,  _ finally, _ the wounds of Umbara can start to heal.

And  _ that’s _ all she’s wanted, ever since she stepped off the  _ Twilight _ to a huddle of exhausted, sick clones shouting out the names of their dead.


	9. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> epiloooogue! right now this is the end of the series, though in the future there will probably be a oneshot and maybe another longer fic, as discussed.
> 
> BUT NOW. it is DEFINITELY time for... HUNGER GAMES AU! 
> 
> make sure you've subbed to either collegefangirl or i so that you don't miss our new fic, _let me be your shelter (let me be your light)_ , which is going to be the first installment in a three-part series closely (but not exactly) based on the Hunger Games trilogy. we've super enjoyed having all of you guys on this ride with us, and we hope to see you on the next fic as well!
> 
> but for now... enjoy the epilogue :D

Rex stands in solid parade rest in front of rows and rows of hundreds of of his  _ vode  _ in blue-painted and white armor, and he can almost pretend this is a normal battle, that half of the men in front of him are not still anxious around his Jedi and expecting them to turn dangerous if anyone makes one wrong move. It is close enough to normal that he can just manage locking everything inessential out of the way and settling into the mindset he’s had perfected since his very first month in the war.

“We’ve got a simple one today, boys,” he says, knows his voice carries well enough and the helmets will pick up what would otherwise be too quiet. “There’s an outpost in the southern hemisphere of Takodana we’ve gotta take before the Republic can move on their capital. It’s gonna be a fairly simple two-pronged assault, artillery going in first. I’d give you a more concrete plan, but,” he cringes and rolls his eyes under his helmet, “we’re a little short on intel, so General Skywalker is going to be  _ improvising  _ a lot of this.”

It’s not the most ideal first mission - Rex would have liked to have a very definite plan for them, this time around, but the smaller scale of this battle is going to be good, most likely. So he decides not to worry about it, figures this is a better way than most to get them used to General Skywalker, and focuses on getting them all organized and onto their transports by the time his Jedi get to the hangar.

He nods to both Anakin and Ahsoka when they arrive and climb into his transport, can tell they’re both dealing with anxiety of their own. Ahsoka brushes her hand against his and he catches it for a second since he can’t offer a reassuring smile. Anakin is fiddling with the edge of his tabard but he asks, steadily, “How are they looking, Rex?”

“Well, sir,” Rex says, dryly. “I’ll let you know once we win this.”

He’s guessing the short recovery period after this battle will be… interesting, to say the least. Gods, he just wants to get it over with already. He needs this, some - most of his  _ vode  _ do, he thinks.

So long as nothing goes disastrously wrong, this should help matters.

~~~

Rivet does not really  _ like _ General Skywalker.

He is too loud, and too…  _ dramatic, _ and he moves too much, too fast, too jerky. It makes Rivet want to flinch, every time the General moves. For the most part, he can ignore that--he wanted to flinch every time General Krell moved, too--but seeing the Jedi in  _ battle? _ That’s a whole other problem.

When General Skywalker first ignites his lightsaber, Rivet jolts. That is a simple fact: the lightsaber hums, and he goes tense and still and frozen, waiting. It’s routine, almost--and the sound of orders growled across his in-helmet comms (Captain--no,  _ ARC trooper _ Je’kai) snaps him into the icy-hardness of battle, of laser focus and  _ not thinking _ about the Jedi so close by.

(General Skywalker is fighting on the front lines with them, and General Krell  _ never _ did that,  _ he _ stayed at the back or at an outlook and relayed orders through Captain Je’kai. It is an odd thing, and perhaps--perhaps it is a good one?)

The battalion is split in half. Commander Tano and Captain Rex are leading half the men in an assault on the south side of the base; General Skywalker and Cap--ARC trooper Je’kai (and the other two ARC troopers, Fives and the lieutenant, Echo) are leading the other half (including Rivet himself) at the north side. The walls go down quick and easy and then they’re bursting through and everything turns into a chaotic rhythm of ducking and dodging, of aiming and firing, pressing forward in a tangle of droid parts and plastoid bodies.

There’s a Seppie tank up ahead. Rivet’s squad is in too close: that is a fact. So he goes on comms, his squad’s frequency, says, “Pull out!” because he can see Tripp’s squad coming in with rocket launchers and they need to  _ move _ or they’ll get blown up. Except there is a clump of clankers blocking their retreat and in the chaos of battle Rivet doesn’t have time to signal Tripp to wait, and the rocket launchers fire and there is  _ heat _ and a  _ roar _ of sound and Rivet braces himself, knows, quite suddenly, that this is going to  _ hurt. _ (They will not come find him--he will be too badly injured, so this is it, this is his end. Blown up by his own damn battalion. Fitting, in a way.)

Except--

The impact of shrapnel and metal does not come.

What?

_ What? _

Rivet opens his eyes to see General Skywalker.  _ General Skywalker. _ Standing in front of their squad with his free hand outstretched, straining, and there is something clear-white and barely tangible holding the flames back, arcing the explosion back on itself like it’s been trapped in a crystal globe.

Well then.

_ “Go,” _ General Skywalker says through gritted teeth, “I can’t hold it very long,” and he doesn’t have to order twice. Rivet signals his men and they fall back  _ fast, _ Dusty throwing a grenade that takes down the knot of droids in the way and then they’re running, and there’s a silent second before General Skywalker lets out a shout and  _ jumps, _ soars some ten meters through the air and tucks and rolls for cover, and the explosion  _ releases _ in an echoing thunder and shrapnel flies through the air, like blades, a sliver of durasteel narrowly missing Rivet’s head.

Well, then.

“Keep moving,” he tells his squad, sharp and focused still, but he looks back over at the General and the General-- _ salutes, _ salutes  _ him, _ igniting his lightsaber again and running off, and Rivet is too shocked to salute back.

Generals don’t salute regular troopers. That is a fact.

Generals don’t risk their  _ lives _ for regular troopers. That is also a fact.

Rivet tilts his head to one side, considering. There are, he decides, two options: either General Skywalker doesn’t fit the algorithm, or the algorithm is incorrect. Or, perhaps, both.

Interesting. He’ll have to ask Captain Rex about this, later. (If they survive, of course. There is always that  _ if.) _

Perhaps, Rivet finds himself thinking, as he throws himself back into battle with the rest of his squad, perhaps General Skywalker isn’t so bad after all.

~~~

The battle is near-routine, in Rex’s experience - the hardest part proves to be Ahsoka’s sabers, compartmentalizing that and trying to deal with the fact that his mind has catalogued  _ lightsaber _ as  _ threat _ rather than protection. Mostly, however, he’s fine, although for one moment in the midst of the mayhem he hears sabers and has his blasters trained on the source of the sound before he can think, meets Ahsoka’s eyes through his helmet just as she flinches and he drops his aim, twists away to deal with a real threat that won’t make him think of her screaming on dusty rock.

The outpost, although strategically placed, is not heavily manned - mostly because the Republic was not apparently supposed to be able to  _ find  _ it - so it’s simple to take and should be easy to hold. Once they’re through the walls and into the outpost’s actual buildings, Rex takes half his squads in a systematic sweep of the command center while Ahsoka takes what were most likely living quarters before the droids commandeered the space.

It’s really a short battle, all things considered, and it isn’t long before Rex rejoins Ahsoka and Anakin and Fives, Echo, and Je’kai to set up patrols and get the troops organized to hold the outpost until more troops arrive - once this outpost is secure and the rest of their forces arrive, they have to march on the capital.

Rex doesn’t apologize to Ahsoka for aiming his blasters at her, and she doesn’t say anything about it either. Some of these things just can’t be helped, however much he hates it.

They get set up and Rex goes to the command center with Ahsoka to check on the technicians and the available intel - he’s hearing a lot of chatter on helmet feeds about something General Skywalker did, which had worried him at first, but from what little he’s bothered to parse out he thinks it’s mostly good chatter. He’s sure he’ll hear all about it sooner or later so he just hums quietly to himself while he reviews some maps of the facility - best to know the layout of the place you’re defending.

“Sounds like the General did something impressive again,” Rex says absently, scanning a map, as an excited comment about  _ with the Force!  _ comes across on his feed.

“Mm,” Ahsoka shrugs. “You know Anakin. He can’t make it through  _ one battle  _ without being a show-off. Or a drama queen.” She pauses, considers. “Or both.”

Rex laughs. Gods, fighting again, like _normal,_ with COs he trusted, had felt good. Karking great, actually. Even though he has never before, and certainly will never _now,_ stopped feeling responsible for his brothers’ lives.

“I’m starving,” he says, sighing and turning off the databank he’d been using. “You got anything else to do up here?”

“Nah, let’s go eat,” she says, and she looks bored, which pulls a chuckle out of him. “I’m hungry too.” He huffs and turns toward the door of the command center, only for a very startling knocking sound against the side of his helmet to stop him,  _ apparently  _ courtesy of Ahsoka’s knuckles. He turns back around, raising an eyebrow at her, eyes her mischievous face suspiciously. “You should take this thing off so I can kiss you.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes, grabs her hand (which looks poised to rap on his helmet again, which is  _ annoying,  _ how about she doesn’t do that), and tugs her toward the door. “Don’t be demanding, ‘Soka. Besides, I thought you were hungry.”

~~~

Ahsoka makes a face, grumbles at him, punches his shoulder with the hand he hasn’t grabbed. “I  _ am _ hungry,” she says, pouts at him. “But I also want to kiss you. The two things aren’t mutually exclusive, y’know.”

Rex just keeps walking, says, blandly, “They are if you try to do them at the same time.”

She sputters, pauses for a second (except his grip on her hand tugs her along after him, off-balance, and that’s so  _ undignified, _ the kriff), has to jog to catch up. “Who said anything about trying to do them at the same time? What the kriff, Rexter?”

He chuckles, says, “Oh, is that not what you meant?”

The little--  _ “No, _ you dumb  _ idiot, _ that’s not--the  _ kriff?” _ What is  _ with him _ today,  _ honestly, _ eating and kissing at the same time, that’s just  _ gross. _ Big dumb idiot.

“Oh, my bad, sir,” he says, like he’s  _ surprised, _ and what the  _ kriff. _ “What  _ did  _ you mean, then?”

“You know  _ perfectly _ well what I meant, you big  _ dumbass, _ stop smirking at me. Your helmet isn’t  _ that _ much protection.” She glares up at him, crossing her one free arm. “I can practically  _ hear _ you smirking.” Unfortunately, the glare is ruined by the fact that they have to keep walking, into the building that’s been set up as the mess.

“Me? Smirking?” Rex asks, sounding offended.  _ “Never, _ Commander.” And then he shakes his head a little at her and starts for the food.

She follows him, still grumbling, lets go of his hand so she can grab a tray and fill it up; the line has shortened considerably, since most of the men have either already been through or are out on patrols, and so it doesn’t take long to get their food. She follows Rex over to a table where Anakin, Fives, Echo, Tup, Jesse, Kix, Brii, and, surprisingly, Je’kai, are sitting, drops down between Rex and Anakin and grins disarmingly. “Not a bad battle, don’t you agree?”

~~~

“All battles are bad,” Kix grumbles, and Rex laughs and digs into his food, suddenly  _ ravenous. _

“Shut up, Kix, you know what she meant,” Jesse says, and Kix mutters something under his breath and shrugs.

Rex had helped him and the medics carry the wounded to the medbay today, not enough to make up for his orders, but an apology. He can tell most of his original men, Torrent Company especially, have been more energized than anything else by the battle - hells,  _ he  _ feels more himself than he has in a while.

“Not the worst,” Echo says, with a grin; Brii throws a small piece of something vegetable at his head and Echo’s expression morphs into deep, exhausted annoyance. “Brii, I’m going to-” He glances at Ahsoka, stops, and finishes the curse in Mando’a,  _ “-stick this fork up your ass if you don’t quit it.” _

Rex snorts at Brii’s affronted face, minds his own business and eats his own food.

“What did he just say?” Ahsoka asks him, very quiet and curious.

“You’ve got your fancy new datapad with lessons, right?” Rex answers, smirking. “Figure it out.”

Jesse laughs, and Ahsoka smacks him, and Rex contentedly goes back to eating. He can see Naas partway across the mess sitting with Alpha and Beta and some of the former 607th  _ vode,  _ looking very shocked. He had, of course, been exempted from missions indefinitely, although General Kenobi has been doing so well getting him to use little bits of the Force that Rex imagines he should be able to get back out on the field soon (somehow, that feels like less of a good thing than it should).

“Heard about  _ your  _ little stunt, General,” Kix says. Kix is always fairly grumpy right after missions, which is usually due to worry, and now Rex suspects maybe the Force, too. “How much shrapnel hit you?”

“Not any,” Anakin says smugly. “I’m good at what I do, Kix, what can I say?”

Kix narrows his eyes. “If you’re lying to me, sir, I’m going to give you those Wookiee pain meds again.”

Wookiee pain meds? Rex raises both eyebrows at Anakin, who glares at Kix.

“That was a secret, Kix, we agreed- and it was  _ your fault.” _

“I know it was. But you’d be the only one who was embarrassed about it if I explained.” Kix sips his water very calmly and taps his fingers on the table.

“I don’t know, would anything surprise you all anymore?” Anakin says, with a wry, awkward smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Nope,” Fives says. “But we can sure as hells still laugh at you, sir.”

“Great.” Anakin drops his forearms on the table and goes back to eating, grumpily. Rex hasn’t seen as much of him, lately, between the Council giving them new assignments and Cody informing him that General Kenobi has been hauling him off places fairly often. Rex  _ suspects  _ that the “murdered a bunch of sentients” discussion is still ongoing.

At the moment, he’s much more interested in having a “what do Wookiee painkillers do to General Skywalker” discussion, but apparently Kix is done talking about it because Fives is applying very hard for the story and Kix is just eating as calmly as can be.

~~~

Brii is  _ very _ curious about what  _ Wookiee painkillers _ are,  _ why  _ in the galaxy Kix has them in the medbay, and what they  _ did _ to General Skywalker. Unfortunately, it seems like Kix isn’t willing to tell them yet--Fives’ll probably get the story out of him later, or maybe Jesse will and then Jesse can tell Fives and then Brii can ask Fives and figure it out.

Because  _ gods, _ he thinks that would be fun to draw.

Maybe he’ll tell them that later. It seems like everyone likes to tell him all the  _ jokes, _ because then he’ll draw. 

“Guys,” Echo says, suddenly,  _ very _ dramatic, and Fives  _ swears, _ “guys, I have got a  _ story _ for you.”

“Oh,  _ kriff you, ori’vod,” _ Fives snarls, and Brii grins widely. He can already  _ tell _ this is gonna be a good one.

“Do tell, Echo,” Commander Tano says, and Echo grins brightly.

“So Fives shot down an assassin droid in front of some shinies,” the ARC-lieutenant starts, leaning forward, elbows on the table, “and he thought he was being all cool and dramatic about it, so he turned around and was backpedaling. Except he tripped over the droid and fell on top of it, and it  _ activated again _ and moved underneath him. And he screamed. Like a  _ cadet.” _

“I did  _ not,” _ Fives snaps, and his glare promises  _ death _ to anyone who disagrees.

Je’kai looks up from his plate, says, calmly, a slight smile on his face, “You did,  _ vod. _ Exactly like a cadet.”

Brii  _ cackles, _ pulls out the sketchbook he got from Captain Rex and a pencil, shoves his tray out of the way so he has room. “You just gave me an  _ idea,” _ he proclaims, loudly, waving his pencil around vaguely and then bending over the book, flipping it open to a clean page. He probably won’t have time to finish the drawing before they attack the capital, but if he works fast he can get a rough sketch done to show to Naas. Naas will appreciate that. Naas likes jokes.

And maybe he can wheedle the story about  _ Wookiee pain meds again _ out of Kix later.

“What Echo isn’t telling you,” Je’kai adds, still so calm and casual, “is that it freaked Fives out so much he jumped off the clanker and dropped a grenade on it. All he’d done was spark an electronic response by landing on its wires just right.”

Brii snickers, sketches faster.

Oh, Naas is gonna  _ love _ this.

~~~

Rex laughs and gives Fives a mock scolding look. “That’s what you get for tryin’ to show off, Fives.”

“What, like  _ you’ve  _ never shown off,” Fives says with a look that Rex can’t figure out until he starts connecting the dots to the stories Fives is most likely thinking of, and he sighs and decides to end  _ that  _ before it goes any further.

“Fair enough,  _ vod.” _

For a second he thinks Fives might keep talking and tell some other story to get the attention off himself, but then Tup says wryly, “Fives, the difference is, everyone  _ knows  _ you’re showing off and it’s  _ annoying.  _ Captain Rex is subtle.”

“I am not  _ annoying,”  _ Fives grumbles. “I am clever and hilarious.”

“Nah.” Brii munches on a piece of bread, nods sagely. “You’re annoying.”

Fives apparently gives up on trying to contest the assertion. “Not as annoying as General Skywalker.”

Anakin scowls and points his fork menacingly at Fives, which is even less threatening than it would have been because there’s a piece of fruit stuck on the end. “I’m your General, Fives, you can’t call me annoying,” and then freezes for a second, like he thinks he’s just said something stupid. Rex smiles a little.

“Sir, if the boot fits, wear it,” he says, lightly.

“Give Fives dish detail,” Anakin groans, dropping his face onto his arms.

“I don’t think I will, sir.” Rex goes back to eating, contentedly, ignores the Huttese grumbling from Anakin. He wouldn’t want to  _ encourage  _ Anakin to be  _ more  _ annoying.

After a moment, Anakin pulls his head off his arms and says, almost sheepish, “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Rex - Obi-Wan told me to tell you before the mission that he and Master Vos think Naas is mostly out of danger now.”

“This is not before the mission, General,” Rex says, but  _ little gods  _ that’s good to hear. Naas has seemed better, but Rex (not being a Jedi) hadn’t really been sure.

“Whatever. I told you.” But Anakin grins, broadly, and Rex thinks he was happy to get to share that with them.

“Good,” he says seriously, glances at Je’kai and then Brii with a small smile.

Eventually, Anakin and his  _ vode  _ all peel off to go about their business, and technically Rex should go too (there are equipment loss reports to do, and a couple loose forms, and casualty reports), but he’d rather just sit here with Ahsoka for a bit.

~~~

Ahsoka leans into Rex’s side after the men (and Anakin) go, leaving them mostly alone in the mess; he curls one hand around her shoulder and tugs her closer and she rests her head against his pauldron (not the stupid winged one, thankfully, that one’s poky and it’s impossible to get comfy against it). “They did well,” she says softly, shifting so she can smile up at him. “And apparently Anakin did something stupid--that must’ve been what all the comms chatter was about.”

“Probably,” Rex agrees, looks down at her with a fond expression on his face.

She sighs, closes her eyes a minute. “The 607th integrated well, I think. They’re going to do good, now that everything’s settling down.”

“Yeah, I think so,” he says, and then, quieter: “I hope.”

She nods, doesn’t say anything for a moment, because what else is there to say? And then she lets out a long exhale and says, “They’re all handling fighting with Jedi, at least.” She’d been worried that neither half of the battalion would be able to stay focused in a fight with the sound of sabers--and there’d been that moment when she’d startled Rex, and he’d seen  _ threat _ instead of safety, and trained his blasters on her quicker than blinking. (She hadn’t meant to flinch, but for a flash of a second all she’d been able to see was him sliding down shale and stone with his blasters pointed directly at her while she lay helpless and aching on the ground.)

She’s not going to bring that moment up, though. Both of them had acknowledged it, in a way, and it’s not something that needs to be discussed. They both are quite aware of--all of that.

“They’ve been handling it for a long time. I think it’ll get better, with time.” She nods, and he smiles wryly, adds, “And if Anakin keeps being impressive…”

Ahsoka snorts. “I wonder what he  _ did,” _ she muses, sitting up enough so she can push her chair back from the table, stand up and cross over to drop down into Rex’s lap. She makes a face at his armor (seriously, it’s so  _ poky, _ why) and flops against his shoulder, grinning up at him. “I bet it has something to do with an  _ explosion, _ since Kix was asking about shrapnel wounds.” She reaches up and idly traces her fingers over the scars on his head, humming a bit, and then slides her hand into his hair. It feels nice, really, tickles a bit. He’d just trimmed it, so it’s spikier than usual--she likes it better when he lets it get a little bit longer, because then it’s  _ soft _ and almost silky and that feels nice between her fingers.

~~~

Rex hums, chuckling a little, and fits an arm around her. “That does make sense. And Anakin seems to be drawn to explosions.” Hells, he thinks that’s part of why Hardcase’d- why Hardcase had liked Anakin so much. “I could comm someone and ask, I’m curious too.”

She shrugs. “Sure.” She doesn’t seem all  _ that  _ interested in the story anymore, and Rex privately finds that amusing - she seems pretty intent on his hair, which he also still finds amusing. Feels nice, though.

He shifts, pulls his arm from around her (earning himself a poke in the head and an indignant  _ hey!),  _ and tunes his wristcomm to Akaan’s frequency. “Hey,  _ vod,  _ I’ve been hearing a bunch of rumors about General Skywalker doing something crazy. What happened?”

_ “You don’t know already, sir?”  _ Akaan sounds shocked, and Rex rolls his eyes. He doesn’t listen to helmet feed gossip right after missions, too distracting.

“No, we don’t,” Ahsoka says loudly, and Akaan swears, startled, and Rex pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

_“Oh, hey, Commander, didn’t know you were there too. Well, sirs, basically one of the squads got too close to a tank we were trying to blow, nearly got themselves karki- um, toasted, but General Skywalker kri- shit, sorry-_ ** _shit._** _Well, General Skywalker used the_ ** _Force_** _to hold back the explosion, apparently, gave ‘em time to back off.”_ Akaan lowers his voice to something resembling a conspiratorial whisper, and Rex smiles a little. _“I think I karking_ ** _saw the Force,_** _Captain.”_

“Well, great. Thanks for the explanation, Akaan.”

_ “Yeah, sure, sirs.”  _ Akaan’s frequency crackles into static and Rex turns off his comm, laughs.

“Well, there’s your answer. Skywalker ‘kriffing’ used the ‘karking’ Force.” Rex shakes his head.

Ahsoka smiles, seemingly unimpressed. “Mm, toldja it was an explosion.”

“I didn’t disagree,” Rex huffs, but Ahsoka doesn’t seem that interested in that topic anymore. She leaves her hand against his hair, lifts the other to cup his cheek and trace her thumb over his cheekbone, very focused, so Rex sighs and leans back in his chair, settling his hand on her montrals and moving his thumb steady back and forth.

“You know we both have things to do,” he says mildly, not making any move to get up.

“Mhm. I’m doing important things right now,” she informs him, and he snorts and shakes his head.

“We’ve established hair is strange. Why are you acting like you’ve never messed with my hair before?”  _ She’s  _ strange. And her montrals feel odd to him still, so maybe it’s fair.

She combs her fingers over his scars again, sounds pleased when she tells him, “Because it’s fun. And it feels nice.”

“Hm. Well, your montrals feel nice too.” He hesitates, then decides to indulge his own curiosity and asks, sheepishly, “I know you hear with them, but… what the kriff is the  _ point  _ of them? Why can’t you just have ears like everyone else?”

Ahsoka raises an eyebrow at him, like she kind of can’t believe he asked that question. “What the kriff is the  _ point  _ of your ears, Rex?” That wasn’t- He sighs to himself, waits for her to finish being peeved at him. “At least my montrals  _ have  _ points. Literally.”

She’s  _ entirely  _ too proud of herself for that joke. Rex rolls his eyes. “I just mean- Why are they-” He stops, huffs grumpily. “Most other sentients have, you know,  _ ears -  _ how do yours  _ work?”  _ He wants to ask  _ and what the kriff are the headtails for,  _ but he thinks that might be rude.

“If I told you,” she says, sassy, “it’d ruin the mystery, and who wants that?” She smirks at him, very pleased with herself, lips curling upward, and Rex puts on his most unimpressed face.

“I do. I’m  _ curious.”  _ He points at her hand on his head. “And when  _ you  _ were curious, I let you touch my hair. Play  _ fair,  _ ‘Soka.”

She scratches his head a little, and he frowns at her about that because he is not a  _ loth-cat,  _ thank you very much. “Now why would I do that?” she says lightly, and pulls her hand away from his cheek to poke his nose. For  _ kriff’s sake. _

He glares at her, deadpan, and pointedly moves his hand from her montrals to her back. “Because I  _ said so,  _ and it’s supposed to be  _ fair  _ in love and war, not  _ stupid.” _

She glares at him for a minute, apparently waiting for him to put his hand back on her montrals (and it’s honestly adorable how much she prefers that), and when he stubbornly does not, she huffs out a long exhale and says,  _ “Fine. _ It’s like echolocation. And it’s why our hearing is so much more sensitive.” She looks  _ slightly  _ less grumpy, now, almost a little proud. “Once I get older I’ll be able to use really high-pitched trills to accurately judge distance, too.”

Rex raises an eyebrow, impressed despite wanting to be grumpy. “That’s  _ cool,  _ Ahsoka!” He  _ wants  _ to ask a lot of other questions, now, but he probably shouldn’t. Maybe he’ll just do some research on his datapad.

“I know it is,” she tells him, smirking, and he laughs at her for a minute - until she pokes him hard on the side of the head and he looks down to see she’s back to glaring at him. Oh, right. He laughs again and settles his hand back on her montrals, scratches his fingers a little between them, which makes her make a little noise like a  _ purr. _ Do Togrutans  _ actually  _ purr? Or is she just cute? He’s not sure.

“I can’t do anything like that,” he informs her, dryly. “I’m just a boring Human with normal ears.”

“That’s why ears are dumb and montrals are better.”

“I’m not arguing that. Except montrals take up a lot of space,  _ cyar’ika,  _ ears are nicer like that.”

She sighs, heavily, slumps just the smallest bit, and says tragically, “I know, I can’t fit in your helmet anymore.”

Rex tips his head back and laughs (dislodging her hand a little, kriff). “You know, that was one of the cutest things I’d ever seen,” he says, matter-of-fact. “It wasn’t very fair.”

~~~

Hang on, what?

Ahsoka blinks, tugs Rex’s head back down a bit so she can sift her fingers through his hair easier, says, “Really? You coulda  _ mentioned _ that,” and grumbles at him. “I was just  _ curious, _ and then I found out it has  _ night vision, _ and then Cody  _ startled me,” _ and he snorts and she thinks that’s probably about what he’d assumed happened. “And  _ then _ you did that whole kriffing--whatever the hells you were doing, all the dumb  _ smirking _ at me, which is  _ not fair.” _ She glowers at him, sulkily.

“I think Cody was enjoying himself too much,” Rex informs her. “And I had to do  _ something _ to cope with how cute you were being, Ahsoka, it’s not  _ my _ fault it was a problem.”

She sputters a little, stares at him. What the--how can he  _ say that? _ “It is  _ too _ your fault,” she grumbles, glaring up at him. “How am I supposed to  _ think _ properly when you’re all--stupid and smirky and intense,” and  _ hells _ she needs to  _ shut up now _ because she’s already given him too much information. “Anyway, the  _ point _ is, it’s  _ your _ smirk, you should be aware of its  _ potency.” _

Rex shrugs, and oh no, she does  _ not _ like the look in his eyes. “Well, you should be able to manage your  _ cuteness, _ because it’s pretty kriffing potent too.” And he  _ smirks. _ At her.

The kriffing--she grumbles, punches his shoulder with the hand not in his hair, snaps out, “Well, I was  _ trying _ to get you to kiss me at that point, or at least  _ admit _ to something, so you’ll have to forgive my over-usage of my ‘cuteness’.” She gives him a pointed look, and he snorts and scratches his fingers lightly between her montrals again, and  _ kriff _ that feels nice. She hums and tilts her head into his hand a bit, wonders idly to herself if she should mention-- _ no. _ Nope. If he doesn’t know by now, there’s  _ zero need _ to make things awkward by bringing  _ that _ subject up.

“Well,” he says, sheepishly, “it sort of worked.”

“Damn straight,” and she grins up at him, unrepentant, scratches her fingers through his hair again, curious about his response. He rolls his eyes and glares, but not actually all that threatening, so she hmphs a bit and says, “Oh, c’mere,” and sits up a bit and tugs his head down so she can kiss him.

~~~

Rex laughs into the kiss (which annoys ‘Soka), and curls his hand steady around her back headtail. “How long have you been waiting to do that,  _ di’kut?” _

“The whole conversation,” she admits, sheepishly, half-glaring at him. “You got distracted by my montrals.”

“Because they’re  _ cool,”  _ he says, chuckling. She grins a little, sits up straighter, very pleased. “Sorry, though. You should have just asked,  _ cyar’ika.” _

“Where’s the fun in that?” she huffs.

Which is a dumb question. “You would have gotten kissed sooner, Ahsoka,” he says. “Which I assume is  _ fun.” _

She rolls her eyes at him like he doesn’t have a  _ completely valid point,  _ and then meets his eyes and huffs, “Yes. It  _ is,”  _ and raises her eyebrows a couple times in case he didn’t get the point.

“Okay,” he laughs at her, tugs her in closer and pauses a moment, grinning, before kissing her soundly like she wants.

He loves her, and he can  _ have her,  _ and it’s not a game or a fantasy or a karking dream, he’s awake. And it’s real.

**Author's Note:**

> **Mando'a translations:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  _nayc:_ no
> 
>  _tion'jor:_ why?
> 
>  _di'kute:_ idiots
> 
>  _tion'meg:_ what's that?
> 
>  _naas:_ nothing
> 
>  _je'kai:_ bait


End file.
